MARS ATTACKS!

Yesterday was a red-letter day for Nathan. Since he was about two years old, he has been terrified of the martians from the Tim Burton movie, "Mars Attacks!" When he was still a toddler, he happened to walk into the room as Wayne, my mom and I were watching the movie, and as soon as the martian ambassador emerged from the space ship, he let out a girly scream that rivaled Mariah Carey. That was it... A full-on phobia was born. We tried to expose him to the green, brainy, lidless creatures on other occasions, but to no avail. He was terrified each time to the point where he would be frozen solid in panic. While we tried to assure him that the movie was a comedy, he could not get past the terror of his first glimpse. Last night, however, I blindsided him. Nathan had a friend spending the night, dinner was cooking, and newly arrived from the Netflix queue: Mars Attacks! He swore he would hate me forever. He swore he would be humiliated and find himself bawling in front of his friend. I persisted, knowing if he could get through the first encounter, he would see the humor inherent in the movie and be cured.

Again, the martian ambassador emerges from his flying saucer... his coarse voice barks the incoherent greetings of his planet, motions to the American general the "International Sign of the Donut," Nathan is gripping his brother and mother as though his life depended on it...heart beating like a drum. And then it came: Laughter. Hysterical laughter. Nathan was cured. The movie concluded with Nathan saying, "I don't hate you anymore. It was funny." Congratulations, Nate. You faced the biggest fear of your life, thus far.