Porter’s question: What is this thing called love? Though I realize love is not about definitions.

The conundrum for me is: How do I take my childhood experiences and make it lovingly compatible with the so-called adult I call me? ‘Tis a puzzlement! “Belfast,” “The Tender Bar” and “C’mon, C’mon,” each in their own ways, continue the struggle to define a no less complex but much kinder version of love in the time of childhood. However, recent movies shine a light on changing attitudes. Much that I have written or performed has its roots in this confusion.Ĭhild rearing has run the gamut from “spare the rod, spoil the child” to unparalleled permissiveness. I realize I have made a career from my childhood love experiences. In a child’s world, love that is pain and punishment is tragic and can follow you everywhere if you let it. In the romantic world of the adult, breaking hearts is a rite of passage.

It has to be very confusing to a child, so small, for an adult, so big, to smack him or her while saying, “I am doing this for your own good,” clinching that confusing message with an “I love you.” From that point on, the child’s idea of love is askew. More often, parental unconsciousness knows not what it does when it holds a child accountable to adult standards. Miller makes a fascinating case about Adolf Hitler and the abusive violence of his father and its lasting effect on his developing personality. However, most were created by families: nurture. Many villains of the world, past and present, were in many cases born with inherited characteristics predetermining them to a life of crime and violence: nature. Her major premise is the damage - some intentional, most unintentional - that is done by parents and families. All of her books take on the challenge of nature vs. German psychologist Alice Miller (1923-2010) wrote many brilliant books: “The Drama of the Gifted Child,” “For Your Own Good,” “Thou Shalt Not Be Aware,” among others. However, I believe the lack of love, the need of it, the any and all of it, makes the world go ‘round or stops it dead. It was those little pieces of colored paper in small white envelopes. My life, my breath hung on that count.īack then, I knew what love was.

No matter how I counted, I never got more than 10 or 12 cards out of a class of 25. Covering all my bases, hedging my bets, whatever you want to call it, I left a valentine on everyone’s desk, including the goody two-shoers and snitches.

I went to the five and dime store (remember those?) and bought sheets of valentines with small white envelopes. When I was in elementary school, it was easy.

A crazy thing called love movie