Love. Pitter Pat.

Couple months ago I reread for the nth time my all-time favorite book, To Kill a Mockingbird. When I closed the cover, I didn't want it to be done, so I thought I'd pop in the movie, only to find we didn't have it. I knew we used to, once upon a time. Perhaps that was VHS? Anyway, I asked for the DVD for Christmas. I asked and I received. And we watched it last night.

Is there any man that is more of a man than Gregory Peck as Atticus in this movie? I don't think so.

















Dear sweet Lord above, I love this man.

And I love so many of the things he says, like:

"They're certainly entitled to think that, and they're entitled to full respect for their opinions... but before I can live with other folks I've got to live with myself. The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience."

I love the father he is to his children, I love his moral compass, I love the southern gentleman thing he had goin' on. Makes me mad he never made a move on Miss Maudie, though. What was up with that, anyway?

May God strike me dead if I'm lying to you, but I swear even George Clooney himself couldn't come near to touching Gregory in this role.

Why did I never name any of my sons Atticus? Three golden opportunities all wasted.

What's up with that, anyway?










Pitter pat. Click, clack.




Image courtesy: tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com