Every parent hopes to share something with their kid. Some dads coach Little League. Some teach their daughters to fish. I corrupted mine with horror movies, and it's one of the best things I've ever done.
Allie and I have been watching scary movies together for years now. It started when she was old enough to handle the lighter stuff — your Goosebumps-level creepy — and gradually escalated to the point where she's recommending movies to me that I haven't heard of. The student has become the master.
The Rules
We have an unspoken system. Lights off. Phone away. If it's a really good one, we make popcorn. If it's a bad one, we roast it in real-time like our own private podcast. Some of the worst horror movies have given us the best nights because we spent the entire time laughing at the terrible CGI and predicting every jump scare five seconds early.
The rest of the house wants no part of this. Samantha will watch a thriller but draws the line at anything supernatural. Duane thinks horror is "mid." Sophia covers her eyes during previews. Josie is six and a half, so she's excluded for obvious reasons. And Lincoln just goes to bed.
That's what makes it ours.
More Than Movies
Here's the thing about watching horror movies with your eighteen-year-old: you're not really watching horror movies. You're sitting together in the dark for two hours with no distractions. And in those little gaps between scenes — the walk to the kitchen for more popcorn, the debrief after a twist ending — real conversations happen.
She's told me about college worries during horror marathons. We've talked about friendships, stress, the future, all during the quiet moments between the screams. It's become this weird, wonderful space where she opens up in ways she might not at the dinner table with five other people around.
She's Leaving Soon
Allie is finishing high school. She's college hunting. She's getting her driver's license. Every milestone is exciting and every one of them means she's one step closer to heading out on her own.
I know the horror nights won't last forever — at least not like this, in the same living room, on the same couch. But I also know that twenty years from now, when she thinks about home, she'll remember the two of us yelling at the screen and arguing about whether the sequel was better than the original.
That's enough. That's everything, actually.