For Wichita filmmaker, Christmastime brings fond memories of movies with mom

This will be the first Christmas without my mom. She passed on Aug. 26.

Of course it’s been a dark period for me. And people keep telling me to brace for Christmas, as it will be hard. But as we do near Christmas, my memories of her flourish, and they make me smile. Her love of dancing at powwows. Her delicious breakfast crepes. Her love of shooting pool. Her infectious laugh.

Growing up, she made sure my brother and I were self-sufficient, even teaching us to cook (although I do rarely now). No one is going to have to take care of you, she would say. You can take care of yourselves. You will be independent. And she was right.

Her support for my creativity began early, when she discovered my love of movies. As a child, she would take us to the now-gone Crest Theatre on Douglas, about where Il Vicino is now.

I remember arriving at the ticket booth underneath the dazzling, neon-bursting marquee. My excitement rushed as we gave our tickets to the usher, and as we opened the door to inside, the wonderful smell of popping popcorn wafted through the air. I would run to the “coming attractions” display and marvel at the posters and stills that would take me to another world. I guess that’s why now I love seeing movies at a theater. The whole encompassing experience.

We saw all the cool Disney kid films at the time (”Escape to Witch Mountain” remains one of my favorites). And, yes, some of them came out during the holiday season. While other kids wanted toys for Christmas. I wanted movies.

As a single mother raising two boys, finances were tight. But regardless, she would still take vacation time from her job and save up money so we could go to movies at Christmastime. That was so incredibly special, I know now.

And as I got older, my love of movies grew. I wanted to see more and more of them. I guess I was studying them, though I didn’t know that at the time.

In high school, that passion turned into a love of theater. I acted in several plays. My mom would always come to see me. It didn’t matter that this was a new world for her, too. It didn’t matter that she went by herself. She was there, no matter what. No matter how small the part.

I continued to act in plays through college. And after graduating, after I became a journalist with The Eagle, I decided to turn my love of movies and theater into writing a movie script.

I studied on my own, devouring books. I eventually wrote my first feature-length screenplay, “Dancing on the Moon,” and it got me into two writing labs at the Sundance Institute; no small feat.

Making that first film was a journey unto itself, literally through blood, sweat and tears. But my mom was always there. She became my executive producer. She and my family even traveled to our set in Council Grove, KS, where my mom and sis cooked and fed us all.

That initial attempt at making my film failed, though. Miserably. I shut down production and put everyone I hired back onto a plane where they came from, then went back to Council Grove to be with my family. They were camping by the lake and everyone had taken the week off anyway, so we just decided to stay.

The failure of my film was devastating. My mom hugged me and sat with me by the lake at night as we watched a thunderstorm roll in over the water. She told me, go ahead and be sad. Mourn the passing of your film. Let it go. Then regroup and get back at it.

So I did. It wasn’t easy, but we got it done. We eventually premiered “Dancing on the Moon” with two great screenings at the Orpheum Theatre. About a year later, the film was accepted into the American Indian Film Festival in San Francisco.

At the festival, they have a closing night awards show, lovingly referred to as the “Indian Oscars,” and I was nominated for best supporting actor, which just blew my mind. The category came and went and I didn’t win, which was no big deal. But after that, my mom was tired, so she and my step-dad decided to leave.

Then they announced special jury awards. And I won for “most promising newcomer.” I accepted the award, mumbled through a thank you speech, walked the photo press line, then ran outside to see if my mom was still outside. She was, still waiting on a taxi. I held out the award and said, mom, look what I won!

She didn’t say anything, but grabbed me and hugged me so deeply I still feel it today. She was practically shaking.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said.

Many years later, I’m still a fledgling filmmaker, at best. But I’ve somehow managed to make four feature films (and 22 shorts) right here in Kansas, and my mom supported me all the way through.

And it all started with the movies at Christmastime.

Thank you mom, for believing in me, for nurturing my passion. For giving me courage. You’ll always be with me.

Especially in the popcorn line.

Reach Rod Pocowatchit at rodrick@rawdzilla.com.