The Simons

“Hey Walt, you left a movie in my dvd player,” my dad said, as I rummaged through his fridge.

As I continued looking for food, I momentarily panicked. Did I leave a porno in there?, I wondered. Nah, I only watch porn on the computer.

“What movie?,”  I said casually.

“I dunno,”  dad said, kind of annoyed. “Those little yellow guys….The Simons.”

I laughed to myself as I reached for a can of ginger ale. I knew he meant the Simpsons. It was simply another case of my dad mispronouncing movie names, as he’s done as long as I’ve known him.

The first fuck-up I truly remember is the Kevin Costner classic, Dances With Wolves. My dad had rented it and couldn’t wait to tell my sister and I about the fabulous western he had seen.

“You know what I saw last night; Dancin’ With The Wolf. I tell you, that one deserved the Oscar.”

Over the years, I’ve heard him inexcusably flub the titles of popular movies. A League of There Own became A League of OUR Own,  Erin Brokovich became Erin BRONCO-Vich and my favorite flub, Castaway with Tom Hanks, became The CASTOUT.

Sometimes, points of movies missed dad entirely. As with the Sixth Sense, which I’ve already mentioned in the early days of this site, where he thought the “twist” of the movie was not the Bruce Willis was dead the whole time but that “the kid had the sixth sense”.

It’s rare that dad flubs movie titles these days, mainly because we don’t talk about them. Although, as I was walking through the house the other day, I heard dad yell, “Get up Rock!”

I crept into the living room. Sure enough, dad was watching Rocky Balboa, which is playing on Showtime this month. Rock had just been knocked to the mat by Mason Dixon and dad wasn’t happy. I couldn’t really fault him for cheering Rocky as if he were in a real fight. I think I yelled the same thing when I saw the film on the big screen. And, me, the movie buff that I am, should know better.

Dad’s always been into Rocky. I remember being very young catching dad walking through the house sometimes, with his arms in the air, clenched fists, shouting, I want Balboa, I want Balboa,  ala Mr. T in Rocky III.

How often I had the urge to confront him, just once, and ask:  “You want Balboa for what?”

But he’s my dad. Why would I want to embarrass the guy.

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