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The Citizen, 2017-05-18, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, MAY 18, 2017. PAGE 5. Other Views People in movies do weird thin The hero of the movie we were watching at home the other night walked into the house of the woman who would become his love interest later on. "Hey, he forgot to shut the door behind him," my wife said. Obviously leaving the door open didn't bother Diane Lane, the romantic heroine of the movie. Maybe she'd watched a lot of movies and noticed that people seldom seem to shut doors behind them when they enter a room. This is where movies diverge from real life. If I went around leaving the door open all the time it would not be good for my romantic life. Strangely, aside from those films that are all about fantasy, movies create a sense of reality, even as the characters living in them ignore the realities the rest of us live with. Leaving doors open can let the cold and snow in, or the neighbour's cat or, in the country, swarms of flies. But the extra second it takes to close a door might slow the pace of the movie so directors just have actors walk in and keep on going. People in movies also never take off their shoes or boots when they enter a house or apartment, even if they've come in from the rain or snow. They don't even pause long enough to wipe their feet before they walk through their gorgeous homes and you have to wonder how long it will be, given this kind of carelessness, before the house is a wreck. People in movies seldom take time to do up seatbelts. Recently I was amazed when there was actually a shot, in the movie we were watching, of someone doing up her seatbelt. It turned out to be the set-up for a sight -gag moments later of another driver who was in a hurry who was trying to do up his seatbelt but it kept sticking as he tried to pull it over his shoulder, causing him comic frustration. It's part of the reality of creating these cinematic fantasies that generally something is only in a movie if it's important to tell the story. So, for interest, movies are dominated by one -child families. The screenwriter or director needs an interaction between parent and child so one child is invented, but more kids clutter up the story so the parents only have one. You don't get larger families unless the plot is about a parent or parents juggling a big family. And this is where the old question about whether art imitates life or life imitates art starts to worry me. Because movies and TV give us a view into other people's homes that we seldom have in real life, they can be great influencers. I'm hoping that Hollywood, by example and persuasion, doesn't do what China did by coercion and create the one -child family. Who needs entire countries of spoiled only -child citizens? Similarly, unless the plot of the movie is specifically about being poor, the characters will live in a house or apartment that is far more luxurious than your home — unless you're part of the top one per cent. Life in the movies always seems to dangle a "better life" just beyond the one you can afford now. A perfect illustration for me always was the difference between the houses the little girls ask Santa for in the 1947 and 1994 versions of Miracle on 34th Street. By the 1990s most people were living in a house as large or larger than Natalie Wood's dreamhouse in 1947, so the wished -for house suddenly grew by about 2,000 square feet. Money is never a problem for characters in movies unless the plot of the picture is that money is a problem. So if the plot requires that someone immediately jump on a plane and fly s to Los Angeles or Paris, they just do it. Sometimes even when the character seems to be broke they can find the money to do something extravagant if it makes the plot work. Then there are the things that happen in movies that I hope don't begin to set the standard for real life. Maybe I'm old- fashioned — okay, I am old-fashioned — but every time I see a movie where parents don't even bat an eye as their daughter walks by them taking a boy to her bedroom I want to shout "What are you thinking! Do you want to prove you're so modern and progressive that you leave a copy of the Kama Sutra on her bed too?" Or there's the case when people in movies lose their tempers. Nobody just curses or stamps their foot. They don't even simply throw something and then quickly realize they've gone too far and this is going to cost them money and valued possessions. No, to prove you're really angry you have to trash the room, smashing object after object like an out - of -control four-year-old on steroids. And finally, I've noticed that smoking is creeping back into movies again and I hope it doesn't make smoking cool for another generation. In the 1940s and 1950s everybody in movies smoked, and so did most people in the general population. There were some experts, at least, who thought that showing women as sophisticated if they smoked also helped convince many women who wanted to appear modern and liberated to take up smoking. Writers, directors and actors had their knuckles wrapped in the 1980s through 2000s and fewer people were seen smoking. But there is a far higher percentage of writers, directors and actors who smoke than in the general population and I can't help thinking they're trying to slip their lifestyle into movies. We don't need anything that encourages smoking again. To all those who give blood, thank you Several months ago my entire family was on edge as my eldest sister, Tory, lay clinging to life in a hospital bed — first in Sarnia and then in London. Due to complications with the birth of her third child, my second nephew, Rhett, she suffered internal bleeding and, despite the best efforts of some very talented medical professionals, the prognosis wasn't good following the Feb. 1 birth. Tory, for those of you who don't know, is my eldest, younger sister. I have three siblings, Tory and my twin siblings Ethan and Marissa. Ethan and Marissa are a decade younger than me, so it gets difficult to relate to them sometimes. Being born in 1995, they may or may not be millennia's, depending on whose definition you use, and have grown up with oddities and wonders that were hinted at when I was younger. Heck, even their upbringing was different as parenting evolved and my parents approach to it changed in the years after they were born. Tory, however, being just two years my junior, was a different story. We grew up with the same crazes, faced the same parental techniques and dealt with the upheaval that followed the birth of our siblings (literal upheaval, we moved half a dozen times in the four years immediately following their birth). We're very different people but when the chips are down, family is family and I believe we would be there for each other. She's important. I've known her all her life. So, Tory, the only person in the world who knows with 100 per cent certainty why she and I are the people we are, was in a coma and our family was facing an uncertain future. Every hour things changed and it went from doctors not knowing where she was bleeding, to not knowing how many bleeds there were, to trying to plug all the holes to sending her to a different hospital. My parents were at her bedside whenever possible, helping to take care of Rhett, along with his older brother Wes and older sister Evie, whenever necessary. To say it was a terrifying experience for my family would be underselling it. My sister was in life-threatening condition for days and no one could, with certainty, say what was happening or give us the comfort that we sorely needed. In the end, she pulled through. She's still on the mend but she and Rhett are healthy, happy and home. Tory's return to her home wasn't some miracle, however. Yes, we prayed and yes, I do believe that God decided she needed to be there to raise her children, but her survival came as a result of two very dedicated groups — the people who donate blood and the medical professionals who, alongside saving her life, put up with my family. Doctors say more than 45 blood donors helped my sister pull through the birth, internal bleeds and the many operations that were needed. Blood, platelets and other blood products were used. I am not one of them. Whether it's a medical condition as some doctors have suggested or "being a wuss" as my mother has suggested — all my life actually, and Tory can attest to that — I can't do needles safely. They regularly cause my blood pressure to bottom out and occasionally cause me to faint. I could give an excuse like, I have a council meeting the night of the blood drive, but I'm not going to try and dodge the truth. I'm not embarrassed by my aversion to needles, but I am disheartened by the fact that I can't give blood. Those who can have kept my family together. Fortunately, my mother and sister have decided that, to mark her 30th birthday, which was earlier this month, they are going to have a birthday blood drive at the Seaforth Community Centre located at 122 Duke Street. Tory is aiming for 30 donors to mark her 30th birthday, but she is hoping to hit 45 to make sure the blood that kept her alive is there when it's needed for someone else. The clinic will be held on Monday, June 5, from 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. So, while I can't necessarily give blood (without passing out), I can use my gift of the gab and proficiency with the pen to try and get as many people to go to the blood drive or donate elsewhere to mark Tory's continued existence thanks to those who give. So if you're the kind of person who can give blood, I encourage you to make the trip to Seaforth on June 5. I'm told Rhett will be there to thank people in person, though don't be surprised if thanks take the form of napping or crying. Your highness We've all had our brushes with royalty, right? Well... hold on. Wait a minute. Maybe we haven't. Anyway, I had my brush with royalty on the weekend with Her Royal Highness Princess Margriet of the Netherlands during her brief, yet lovely, visit to Goderich. When I say brush, I mean brush. The town's Liberation Park was overrun with people and during a plaque ceremony on Sunday and, after doing my journalistic duty and photographing the whole thing (after a bit of a territory war with a pushy Dutch photographer and — don't worry, I did Canada proud in said war — and ongoing negotiations with a woman from the Dutch embassy who thought she owned the place) I found myself between a rock and a hard place. Rather — and more literally — between a princess and a walker. So we all closed in around the plaque when the princess and her husband Pieter van Vollenhoven unveiled the plaque, but then she had to get back to the stage and everyone had to move. I was right in the path and had to move aside, but behind me was an elderly woman in a walker. I only had so much room to manoeuver, lest I put too much of my body into the princess or the walker woman. Don't worry, though. I was able to move enough that the princess only brushed past me and that brief contact did not result in me being tackled, tased or otherwise accosted. But, there you go... my brush with royalty. How many of us can say that? I am always hyper aware of where my feet sit on the ground for this very reason. Most readers know me and if they know me, they know that I am 6'3" and do not have a frame that would be considered svelte. Being aware of my size, I am just as aware that not everyone on this planet is of the same size, one of whom is my 5'0" future wife. One weight shift or a -bit -too -aggressive step in the wrong direction and I could clean her clock. Now, with a baby in the family, another banana peel has been thrown in front of my Mario Kart. If you've ever seen me out working at a public event with children running around, you'll know that I almost never make any sudden movements. I always thoroughly evaluate my surroundings before I move. It's the equivalent of looking both ways before proceeding beyond a stop sign — except it's when I'm on foot. In fact, there is a particularly successful author who has been known to frequent Blyth who was very close to finding herself on a collision course with me once. I remember it to this day. Not just for the headlines that would have resulted (some of which I may very well have had to write myself) but for just how close of a call it was. I was waiting to pay my bill at one of the village's local restaurants and another patron cut in front of me, wanting to peer into the display case, presumably pondering some dessert. So I, uncharacteristically, stepped backwards without looking. When I did, I saw that I, accompanied by a fair amount of momentum, had missed our beloved wordsmith by a matter of inches. That brush with a very unpleasant situation, not to mention likely everlasting pariah status, was enough to strengthen my resolve to look before I step — no matter the circumstances. I could end this PSA with the standard "it just might save your life" (me being the `your' in that sentence), but given the circumstances, I think it's more appropriate to say that watching where I'm going just might save your life.