When You Take Your Grandmother to See Purple Rain

Hindsight is always 20/20

I watched Purple Rain last night after seeing its debut 40 years ago, but not for the reason one might think. This time I had to reconsider, shift my perspective — the only benefit of peering into life’s rear-view mirror.

The beauty of clarity.

A couple of weekends ago, the hubby and I went to our favorite jazz club to see a local band we know and have followed for years — the lead singer, who by the way sang a banging rendition of Purple Rain.

Everyone in the building was swaying on both levels in memoriam with flickering cell phone lights. Spectators passing by the front floor to ceiling windows outside stopped to look and listen for free.

On the wall behind the iridescent lit bar was the above electrifying image of Prince. His melancholic expression captivated me — held me close to a memory tied to him forever. I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

His royal purpleness left us for that better place everyone talks about but has never been on April 21, 2016. The odd memory that haunts has more to do with personal regret, less to do with the pop star’s music or rise to fame.

My sweet 80-year-old grandmother had flown three thousand miles, even fainted inflight to visit mom and me. My bratty 15-year-old cousin would drop that little ditty on us later when it was time for them to leave.

No doubt in my mind, she swore him to secrecy — just like her not wanting anyone to make a fuss over her. She was everyone’s rock — not a fragile mind, body or soul inhabited by her five-foot inch earthly costume. An angel in disguise.

I was worried. She was so pivotal to my being — upheld my sanity, taught me grace and humility throughout the storms mom rained down on me. Relieved with her clean bill of health after we took her to the doctor, I wanted her last few days with us in California to be memorable.

I also wanted nothing more than to make her proud of me in every way. My grandmother guided me through my formative years, shrouded in a veil of kindness and love I could feel in every ripple of my soul. She taught me how to read and write before kindergarten — hooked me on storytelling.

We hadn’t seen her since my college graduation three years prior. I was the youngest and only grandchild to attend and graduate. I was looking forward to making her even more proud.

By the summer of 1984, the buzz surrounding Prince’s movie, Purple Rain, was exhilarating. I couldn’t wait to get home from work to take my family to dinner and a movie. My treat since I had an actual job working in advertising by then.

With my earnings, I had bought a spanking brand-new black mustang with caramel interior, stick shift, and sunroof top.

The four of us climbed into my diva mobile and off we went. First stop, Tony Roma’s in Beverly Hills. Barbecue ribs so scrumptious and tender they’d make you smack your mama.

After the chow down on baby backs, a loaf of their famous onion rings, corn on the cob, and a side of coleslaw — it’s a wonder we could stay awake for the movie.

At seven o’clock we sat in the packed Century City theater’s plush velvet seats waiting for the lights to go down. We were in the first section, last row, where I felt at any moment someone could airlift us out of our seats — let us step into the scene with actors on the Hollywood set.

Prince splashed onto the screen, riding his purple motorcycle dressed in his signature purple eighteenth century garb. Music booming. Soon, immersed in darkness with characters who needed their mouths washed out. Every other scene, someone was dropping an F-bomb and any other profane word you can think of — what was I thinking?

If memory serves me correctly, I knew the film was R rated. I hadn’t been prepared for how it would make me feel watching it with my grandmother. Not that I’m a prude, but sitting there with her made me cringe. Especially during the raunchy sex scene, marital abuse between Prince’s parents and eventual suicide of his father.

I peeped over to see if my grandmother awash in a reflection of intense technicolor wore a shocked expression or fainted in her seat when Prince bent a frontally nude Apollonia over from the rear to tap that ass. Oops. See how times have changed — were you shocked?

These days it might be equivalent to taking her to see Cardi B. and Meghan Thee Stallion sing WAP. Need I say more?

Which brings me to a broader point. We’ve become so desensitized — the shock value of foul language previously reserved and expected from our edgy comedians back in the 80s barely warrants a head turn or eye roll.

It has infiltrated our culture, embedded itself in movies, music, radio, and television, even on elementary school grounds. I’ll leave it to you to decide if that’s a good or bad thing.

I had never been so ashamed in my entire life — I apologized to my grandmother for my lack of judgement. Had I gone to see the movie with my besties, I’m sure I’d have had a different perspective — I left thinking the movie was pure unadulterated trash.

My biggest concern was tainting her perception of me — luckily, she never seemed phased by it at all. Life went on without a blip for the next couple of days.

Looking in the rear-view mirror, did I think she had her children by immaculate conception, never had sex — that she never once witnessed marital abuse, been a victim of it or never heard of anyone close or in her family who committed suicide? Thankfully, not to my knowledge.

Time is the great equalizer.

When I watched Purple Rain last night, I thought of it as a sweet love story buried beneath themes of abuse, tragedy, and a desperate longing for fame. Period.

It didn’t seem so cringeworthy after all these years. Have I grown old and sentimental? Probably.

The day my grandmother packed to go back to Philadelphia, I stood in the bedroom doorway squinting back tears, contemplating a gesture — a gift to make our time together more memorable.

“Grandmom, is there anything I can get you to take back home?” She looked up from her suitcase — sunlight streaming through the adjacent window dancing in her eyes with a crooked grin on her face.

“Yes, I’d love to have the soundtrack tape of Purple Rain.”

I know, that since life is our most precious gift, and as far as we can be absolutely certain, it’s given to us to live but once, let us so live we will not regret years of useless virtue, and inertia, and timidity, and ignorance, and in our last moments we can say: All my life, all my conscious energies, have been dedicated to the most noble cause in the world, the liberation of the human mind and spirit — beginning with my own. ~ Maya Angelou

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