I took this extremely literally. As the movie played, I could only assume that this was some kind of documentary in which each member of my family was represented.
Dad:
Mom:
My sister:
My dog:
Our dog at the time was actually named Luca, which made this a watertight theory in my mind.
My brother is 16 years older than me, and I’ve never lived in the same house as him, so Sonny was particularly fascinating to me. I wanted nothing more than to be Sonny’s little sister.
I loved everything about him…his suspenders, his poofy hair, the way he appeared to talk sideways out of his jaw, the way he yelled at people and broke their ribs.
It was charming. When he beat up his sister’s no-good husband, I was overjoyed. When he sped out of the house to kill him later, I felt tears in my young eyes. When he was shot unceremoniously at the toll booth, my world imploded.
I spent the next five hours of the movie feeling as though all the laws of the universe had been broken. Why did Sonny die, Dad? When I was just getting to know him! Why, Dad? WHYYYYYY?
Years passed in this way. My father eventually became an undertaker, and my Godfather theory evolved. Rather than an elaborate passion play representing our family, I realized that The Godfather was actually a coded message in which my father was trying to tell me that our family was in the Mafia, with his so-called “cremation business” working as an elaborate front.
Sitting alone in my room, listening to Sarah McLachlan, I realize that Sonny had never been my brother.
I will remember you...will you remember me...
Coldness descended upon my heart with icy wings.
Years passed in this way, until 2006, when sitting somewhere in a dorm room, I innocently began watching a stupid holiday movie. A stupid holiday movie called Elf.
And there was Sonny!
HE WAS ALIVE!! Yes--as Will Ferrell danced around the dining table in an elf hat, I burst into tears. The movie was just so beautiful! I felt such utter relief upon watching it! Family! I thought. Family is so important!
