Sacred Spaces

“Some people can read War and Peace and come away thinking it's a simple adventure story. Others can read the ingredients on a chewing gum wrapper and unlock the secrets of the universe.” – Gene Hackman as Lex Luthor

This quote has stuck with me since I was a kid. I think of it often when trying to explain why movies are profound art for some while they are just passive entertainment for others. It's one of the driving reasons I continue to teach film to high school students: to help them find their own chewing gum wrappers.

Movie theaters (and ballparks) have always been sacred spaces to me. As a skinny, sometimes awkward kid with a big imagination, the theater was a place where I could dream freely. It gave me fuel for an imagination that still serves as my best friend today. (Yes, I was skinny.)

I continue to teach film because every year, a handful of kids will discover cinema in a way that touches them — not a surface-level wash, but a deep, soul-stirring impact. Sometimes the most imaginative kids feel "weird" or “off,” and their friends don’t quite get them. That’s why it’s so vital they have an adult who does. One who celebrates those ideas instead of dismissing them as silly or unimportant. That connection, that validation, can be everything. It has become my calling.

As the school year approaches, it’s tempting to look at all the creative projects I’ve poured time into this summer and wonder if they should be put aside. I realize that setting them aside, I greatly delay completion and reduce the chances of success for them. Even at 49, I have dreams unfulfilled that I have not given up on. I’m blessed to have a partner in Jess who would support me if I said tomorrow, “I’m not going back. I want to give everything to this new dream., project or goal.”

But I go back each August for many reasons. I feel part of the community. I don't want to let members of my leadership down. All valid reasons. The biggest? That kid. The one who feels different. The one who hasn’t quite found their 'people' yet. The one whose dreams or ideas or stories are bursting at the seams looking for a vehicle to get out.

I go back to help them find their voice. To help them make connections between the stories they watch and the stories they want to tell. To hand them the tools — and the encouragement — to tell those stories bravely and honestly. I go back to give them what took me so long to find: a place they belong. A place to dream. A safe space to discover they’re not alone.

Movies, film, cinema — whatever you call it — still affect me that way.

They’re sacred spaces. Temples of light, sound, imagination, and dreams.

During Superman, I looked down the aisle at my grandson, sitting on the edge of his seat.

And in that moment, I saw myself. I saw the kid I used to be. And I was thankful — deeply thankful — that maybe he just found a place where he can discover a little piece of himself.

Sacred spaces.