Dear Mr. Spielberg Kathryn Slattery

Dear Mr. Spielberg,

(A Golden Shovel of Movie Magic)

No one back then questioned why parents would bring their five-year-old. Does it make them bad? No. I loved it. Petrified, my feet up in the seat. I may have had an imagination already, but you lit the fuse to it, fuelled it, left me wanting to be an adventurer, without the crippling fear of snakes.

Clowns and maggots, they’re the things that make my breath halt. Back then, before my introduction to Mr. King and his clown, never has anything scared me more, except the tree that tried to feed itself Robbie while Carol-Anne was taken by them… DeLorean time machines, and Mogwai came after, caught my formative sweet spot, just before midnight

struck and turned me into an adolescent. The Goonies, Gremlins, Poltergeist, Indiana Jones, I never tire of watching, reliving that early magic, saying things that show my age, like Goonies never say die.

Kathryn Slattery

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