Home & Garden

Like Hank Jr. says, "It's a … family tradition."

Granted ol' Bocephus was referring to livin' up to his daddy's name while trying to survive the country music clichés of drinkin', drugs, scurrilous women, falling off mountains and breaking his face only to have the flip-side good fortune of then inventing a larger-than-life rockstar persona thanks to the facial hair and ever-present sunglasses that were necessary to hide the scars.

I condone none of those things, but I get the point.

It's important for families to have something to call their own, a ritual that brings individual members closer while creating a lifetime of memories.

Alcohol and drugs need not be part of the equation — unless you're a Baldwin brother.

So how do these magical mystery tours find their genesis?

It takes a visionary. Someone who is unafraid to face the mocking stares and disaffected tones of those apathetic couch dwellers who would rather whittle the evening hours away sending text-messages than family bonding.

It takes a leader of men, women and pre-teen divas. I have emerged as such a leader.

Like Genghis Kahn, Gandhi and Gandalf before me, I have found the intestinal fortitude necessary to mold a loose band of scalawags into an emotional army whose exploits are sure to someday reside in the realm of legend.

We call it Horror Movie Night.

Kids today, with their iPods, cell phones and Internet chatter, have no appreciation for subtlety, for momentum and pacing, for skillful cinematography, for symbolism … for a body count higher than the gross national product of Taipei.

Besides, I cannot imagine a better way to enjoy family time than sitting huddled together in darkness, paralyzed with fear.

That's bonding at its best — literally white-knuckle hugging our way through two terrifying hours of chainsaw-wielding madmen in hockey masks with knives for fingers and acid for blood, who see dead people, have the Mark of the Beast branded into their scalp, can spin their heads 360 degrees, are always accompanied by haunting theme music and spout off cool catch phrases like, "Oh yes … there will be blood."

Of course we started off slow.

Nightmares and step-fathers awoken in the middle of the night weren't my intention. I simply wanted to find something we could all enjoy together without actually having to do anything.

That and My Lovely Wife absolutely hates horror movies (a fact I stumbled upon soon after taking her on our first date to see Saw). There's something so precious about seeing her curled up in the fetal position.

Our first movies were both PG-13 classics. Poltergeist and The Amityville Horror served as my rites of passage, so I felt they were safe enough. Plus, we see more violence on Vh-1 … all under the guise of "reality TV."

Blonde girls cooing, "They're here!" and houses with bleeding walls can't hold a crucifix to the schlock that's propped up as entertainment on primetime television these days.

It wasn't 30 minutes into The Amityville Horror before The Diva started hiding her eyes and squeezing my hand like she was dangling off the side of a mountain.

Who knew family traditions could be so scary?