"Starring Mac D. Maxcey" by Jeff Maxcey

Although it is difficult to ascertain chronologically what my earliest memory is, I very succinctly remember Dad sneaking me into Star Wars and standing in the back. He held me in his arms for a very long time before we sat down. I know it was Star Wars because of the Tie-Fighters screaming through space which made quite an impression on me. So my earliest memory is a memory of my father, a memory of the movies, and specifically a memory of Star Wars. Is it any wonder I turned out the way I did? A Star Wars fan with daddy issues. 

Dad never called it film or cinema or the movies. He called it 'The Show' as in 'we're going to The Show.' And though I saw a ton of movies at home (our first VHS cassette was Star Wars, which I still own) via the Midway Video in Pearland or taping them off HBO, we actually didn't go to The Show that much...until the divorce. Then we saw movies a lot. 

As it would any relationship, the divorce put a huge strain on my relationship with my father. Everything started around mid-1986 and by 1987 my parents were separated. I know this not because I kept a diary, or that I have some sort of document that tells me so. I know this because my parents were already separated when Dad took me to see Lethal Weapon for my birthday on March 7th 1987. Lethal Weapon had everything you didn't want a 12-year old seeing in the first five minutes: a fully naked woman...snorting cocaine...before committing suicide (and to the tune of Jingle Bell Rock!). And yet, Dad seemed to take it in stride and not a word was said. Not about all the F-bombs, nor the torture scenes, or the mental health of Vietnam Vets which permeates the film. All we did was watch it, and go back to his apartment in West Houston. And for a long time, that was our relationship.

Movies seemed to define us. The terms of the settlement dictated that I see my father every first, third, and fifth weekend if there was one. If you look at a standard Hollywood release calendar, that pretty much sums up how they release movies. Big releases like Die Hard, which we saw opening weekend in 1988, were cushioned by another weekend of non-threatening dramas. We didn't bother with those. For those off weekends, Dad usually relied on me bringing over five or six video tapes. We'd watch about six movies in a weekend. I specifically remember one Saturday in Nassau Bay when from breakfast to midnight, all we did was watch movies, including all three Mad Max films. One videotape, that had three movies on it, we didn't even change out. It just played non-stop for six hours straight. At one point, Dad got weary and almost angry. "Just hold on a minute," he said, holding his hand up and going to use the restroom. We ran to Subway, then back, and pressed play again. 

Dad and I had ups and downs. Imagine my age - thirteen, fourteen, fifteen - he had to endure a teenager learning to drive living with him every other weekend. I know I was awkward. I felt awkward. Sometimes we just didn't get along. There were long silences after one-way arguments. Occasionally there was a door slammed. What do you do when you can't talk to each other? You go see movies. That's what we did. We loved movies. There is no doubt that we would have better spent the time talking. Obviously, had I known his time on this earth would be cut short, I would have chosen to speak more. But our therapy seemed to work. When we watched movies, we weren't arguing - and both of us wanted that.  I would like to think there would have been a time when movies were not so important to us. When we could talk about ourselves instead of debating the end of Apocalypse Now or 2001: A Space Odyssey. It is painful to recognize that I lost him right at the moment when everything between us was getting much better.

One time we sped from Katy to Clear Lake so fast that I thought we were about to go back in time, to be twenty minutes late for High Spirits, a 1988 Steve Gutenberg vehicle which could not be saved with the wit of Peter O'Toole or the beauty of Daryl Hannah. I wish we had missed it all.  After seeing The Doors in March of 1991, Dad and I went to a small reunion of Milby High School friends in which he described to his friends in front of me that the movie was "one big acid trip with lots of sex." We had dinner at Chili's once with my brother James, when Dad described the experience of taking me to see Raising Arizona. "The only thing that kept me going," Dad admitted, "was the ruffian on the Harley killing the rabbits with grenades." When I described Miller's Crossing to him, he went to see it without me. Most of my favorite memories of my Dad, are memories of film. I just wish they were on film.  I've passed this love of film on to my son, Luke (yes, named after that Luke). Luke complained last summer, after seeing Dunkirk, that I never took him to any 'good' movies. I dost protest, and started keeping a list of every film we watched together, making sure to mark the ones he didn't like. We're nearing the hundred mark and so far I only have two bombs: a pretty good ratio in any type of equation. Last month we saw Gran Torino, a film I find hysterical because a cranky old Clint Eastwood reminds me of my grandfather. Luke is 14 next month. I hope he carries his love of film far into the future, remembering how far from the past it traveled. 

Dad signed his name "Mac D. Maxcey" in a beautiful cursive that I could never recreate. I imagine he did it to break up the repetitive "Mac Mac" in his name, and to hint in business that the 'D' stood for Danner, which he was always proud of. I have much of his paperwork, including checks, business cards, overdue draft notices, and his signature is everywhere. Lately I have been transferring my grandfather's home movies from film reels to digital and seeing Dad in ways I've never seen him before. He was already grey when I knew him, and silver when he passed, so the jet black hair takes some getting used to. The younger he gets, the more similar we look, and he alternates with my Uncle Jim in being the star of The Show. They're at Disneyland, fishing in Arkansas, climbing Pike's Peak, driving jeeps at Madrona. Dad is forever on film, just like the movie stars we used to watch. I watch them every week and soon they will be linked to this website. I smile when I think of him on film and how film binds us together. As I press play I sometimes think the film needs credits: 'Starring Mac D. Maxcey.'