Blood Spray

Yet more reprehensible damage was done to my child this weekend when I took him to go see Hot Fuzz. The movie features three or four super-graphic yet unquestionably comic murder scenes. I can’t recommend this film for most seven-year-olds, but mine seemed to enjoy it even though I kept trying cover his eyes with my hand.

Yeah, I worry about him. I really can’t justify taking him to see rated R movies. The truth is I really wanted to see it and he was willing and, hey, at least it wasn’t Shaun of the Dead or Vacancy. I know, not a very strong argument at all.

I will say that these days parents seem overly concerned with protecting their children. Things were different when I was a kid. We played for hours on end unsupervised by adult eyes. We got beat up and knocked down. We were exposed to storm drain pornography and Faces of Death and copious amounts of Howard Stern and Cheech and Chong.

And while my parents were often unable or unwilling to guard my virgin senses from the graphic tumult of media overload, they did lie to and hide things from me a lot. I don’t want to do that.

I’ve also taken him to see Meet the Robinsons, The Last Mimsy, Wild Hogs, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Everyone’s Hero. And isn’t exposing a child to two hours of mediocrity harmful, too?