This weekend I treated myself to a movie in the theater. I saw Project Hail Mary.

I haven’t done that in quite a while.

The last movie I saw in the theater was Reagan starring Dennis Quaid in 2024. I also saw Matt Walsh’s Am I A Racist that year. Twice as a matter of fact. If you can find those movies I highly recommend both.

But those aren’t the kind of movies you take your kids to on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Or your grandkids when they’re in town for the week.

The last movie I saw like that was Barbie. I loved Barbie, don’t get me wrong, but there was a fair amount of woke drivel and forced messaging that I had to ignore so it was a bit of a chore, even though I loved it and saw it several times.

The last time I saw a movie like Project Hail Mary was probably Galaxy Quest. And the time before that was probably when my grandpa took me to see The Sound Of Music.

My brother and I spent one week each spring at my grandparents’ house in Cincinnati. Our spring break never lined up with our friends’, so instead of refereeing our chaos for a week – and there was always chaos – my parents shipped us off to Ohio.

It might have been exile, but it was glorious.

The magic started before we even left Minnesota. Once we boarded the Delta flight, my dad would get us settled into the first row so the stewardesses could keep an eye on us. Back then, anyone could walk you right onto the plane to say goodbye.

The pilot would invite us into the cockpit. The stewardess gave us wings and a deck of Delta cards. We were served actual hot meals – chicken or beef – with real silverware. And we got to keep the Coke can.

We were dressed in our Sunday best, because that’s how you flew in the 1970s.

When we landed, my grandparents were waiting at the gate – hugs, smiles, the whole thing.

We were their only grandchildren, and they made sure we knew it.

At their house, we’d run upstairs to my mom’s old bedroom where twin beds waited, each with carefully chosen toys and a new windbreaker laid out. The 70s were extra windy for some reason.

Grandma would take me to the beauty parlor with her to get a haircut – one I did not want, but it was useless to discuss.

Meanwhile my brother would go to the gym – a men’s only club – with my grandpa, a horrifying experience I am told because all the men swam in the nude. It was a different time.

Every trip followed the same rhythm. An outing – Harlem Globetrotters, Doug Henning. A trip to Potter’s for new shoes and a peanut-shaped balloon called a Potsy. And rides in my grandpa’s green Ford Mustang to wherever we were going next.

Eventually, Grandma would hit her limit with my brother’s energy and my tattling, and she’d hand us off to Grandpa.

Those were the best days.

He’d take us to a movie. Then ice cream – don’t tell Grandma – and then the bookstore.

We each got one book. If we finished it, we got another.

My brother read The Hardy Boys. I read Nancy Drew. I finished five one year. He took home three.

We both still love reading.

Thanks Grandpa.

He loved movies. Took us to everything – The Three Stooges, Blazing Saddles, The Sound of Music. Later, Close Encounters, Indiana Jones. He loved all the Steven Spielberg movies except Jaws – the nudity was inappropriate for such young eyes – go figure.

The swearing and innuendo in Blazing Saddles didn’t bother him at all – he loved all things Mel Brooks. My grandpa loved language, and was quite clever with the written word himself.

These were adventures. Places we’d never go, stories we’d never live, but could experience for a couple of hours.

That’s what movies were.

Watching Project Hail Mary, I kept thinking – my grandpa would have loved this.

He would have taken us to see it. And afterward, we would have talked about it. Not just the story, but the ideas. The big questions – and there are many in this film. Some more adult than others, but a great place to start deep conversations with someone who was skilled at navigating them.

My grandpa has been gone since the 80s and I think about him all the time. What a massive impact he had on my life, the decisions I’ve made and the stories I tell.

And I realize I haven’t even described him yet. He was the quintessential grandpa. He wore the standard grandpa outfit – khakis, button down shirt, pork pie or bucket hat, and sneakers. He had the cul de sac hair – bald on top, hair from ear to ear – and a slight tremor that would go full blown Parkinson’s in his final decade.

He was a gentleman in all definitions of the word. Gentle, kind, sweet to a fault and anxious. This was before anti anxiety medications so he self medicated with bourbon until the doctor told him he couldn’t do that anymore and then he just white knuckled life until his death in his mid 80s. A good run, one might say.

He died 50 years ago and his impact was so big I am now writing about him to share a current movie so you and your grandkids can have this kind of memory 50 years from now.

Funny, this post was supposed to be about Project Hail Mary, and it ended up being about my grandpa.

And maybe that’s the point.