For months I have anticipated a childhood friend's arrival at the box offices and as I piled into a crowded movie theater late last night, I surely wasn't disappointed. The movie Where the Wild Things Are, based on the 1963 children's book, lovingly smashed through the silverscreen and rode me piggy back to my own childhood. I couldn't help but smile as I watched the young boy throw snow at his sister, dance wildly as his mother spoke on the telephone or when, in a fit, young Max jumps on the table and yells "Feed me, woman!"
What's more, I knew that little boy-- not only from my own experience at being a sometimes-problem child-- but also from the playground, the grocery store, at church or a friend's house. Max represents what it means to be a child-- completely unaware of social norms, confused by adult logic and wrecklessly holding onto love all the while enjoying the endlessly the world around him.
Carrol, the large "wild thing" that Max befriends presents a reflection of Max himself-- clearly possessing the same enjoyment of life and love as Max, while also being disillusioned with the realities of the adult world. As the two play and interact, Max is confronted with a larger than life version of himself and is forced to understand a concept so foreign to most: unselfish and unconditional love. As Max drifts away on the little boat that furiously carried him to the island, he waves good bye to the 'wild things' and his own selfishness.
As I sat in the darkened theater, attempting to hide the tears streaming down my face during what I thought was a children's movie, I realized that this movie brought to life more than just the characters on the pages of Maurice Sendak's children book, but it also conjured up lessons learned while playing on the playground or fighting with siblings. It reminded me not only what it meant to be a kid, but also of all the lessons so easily forgotten as we navigate the perils of living and loving.
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