By Rick Kaempfer
I never miss the Academy Awards even if I haven’t seen a single one of the movies up for best picture. This year, I believe, marked the third straight year that I hadn't seen any of them. I’m sure they were all fine films, but well, we don’t get out much.
Nevertheless, I enjoyed watching the show with my oldest son Tommy. It was fun watching an event like this through the eyes of someone who doesn’t have any of the pop culture reference points I do.
John Travolta? Yawn. Steven Spielberg? Yawn. Jack Nicholson? Yawn.
Tom Hanks? “Hey, that’s the voice of Woody!”
Owen Wilson? “Hey, that’s the voice of Lightning McQueen!”
Miley Cyrus? “Hey, that’s Hannah Montana.”
The categories that didn’t interest me at all were his favorites. Achievement in sound? Now you’re talkin’. Best Special Effects? Whoa, cool. Best Animated feature? He actually yelled “SWEET!” when Ratatouille was announced as the winner.
He loved the songs. He loved the short film categories. He loved the technical categories. During the screenwriting categories he looked at me and nodded toward the TV set. It was a “Hey Dad, that’s your category, nod.” It was cute. He doesn’t realize the difference between a writer and an Academy Award winning screenwriter. It’s all the same thing, right?
But I thought we had our biggest bonding moment when the Honorary Oscar was awarded to Robert Boyle. He was so old he had to be helped to the podium.
“See that guy right there, Tommy?” I said. “They said he was 98 years old. That means he was born in 1909 or 1910.”
“Yeah, so?” Tommy said.
“That means he was born after the Cubs last won the World Series.”
That put a face on it for him. Maybe, just maybe, he is beginning to understand his father’s pain.
