What kind of mother would take her two 16-year-old sons to see “Little Women?”
This one, as it turns out. My husband and I were going, and seeing as the boys were on vacation, we thought it was a good excuse to spend time together. There was some eye-rolling when the true nature of the movie became clear, and I had a moment of doubt myself: Nothing ruins a long-awaited movie more effectively than a teenager in open rebellion.
But then the lights went down, the eager heroine began pitching her writing to a skeptical publisher and I was lost in a story I loved as a girl.
I laughed, I cried a little and I was so, so thrilled that I was having this experience with my boys, one of whom ended up loving it. (The other survived intact and in good humor.) Part of my satisfaction was the simple justice of the situation: I’ve sat through a lot of “Mission Impossible,” “Lord of the Rings” and “Star Wars” movies in my time. It felt right that my sons were making a similar accommodation.
Even more importantly, though, I found myself happy — just so, so happy — that my boys were seeing what I was seeing, a movie that put girls and young women front and center in ways you rarely experience on the big screen.