I was seven years old when I first saw Superman, the movie. My brother-in-law took us kids to the theater in Monterrey, N. L., Mexico, so we actually watched the movie dubbed into Spanish. I remember driving in the VW Bug he owned, from their house in Guadalupe all the way downtown. Somehow we found parking among all the cars. The theater was one of those old-fashioned ones, with heavy brocade curtains and red, plush seats. It seemed so grand and could probably seat 75 people or more. I remember filing in, my two nephews, niece, and me, all of us age seven and under. We couldn’t stop looking around before the movie started. I don’t remember if we got popcorn or drinks, but I’m almost sure we did. I also don’t remember if any other adult came with us. I just remember my brother-in-law, who always forgot my relationship with his wife and called her my aunt, with his thick mustache and thinning hair. The screen took up an entire wall, and when the lights went down, and the movie started, we were sucked into a new world. The special effects (remember this was back in 1978) were mesmerizing. There was this bigger-than-life superhero flying around, saving the world.
Tonight, it’s past one a.m. and as I flip through the channels, I land on one of the HBO channels which is broadcasting Superman, and I can’t help but watch. I remember the sense of wonder, amazement, and fascination I had as a child, as Superman takes Lois on that first flight, and I’m reminded of that afternoon in Mexico, where I fell in love with superheroes.