The Terminator Effect

Every Sunday night, we’d gather around my grandmother’s table like clockwork. Aunts, uncles, cousins, casseroles. It was messy and loud and full of love. Sometimes, we’d top it off with a movie—rented on VHS, played on a VCR the size of a microwave. Together, we'd press play… and magic.

One summer evening in 1985, my uncle arrived with a film in a crinkled black case: The Terminator. He was grinning, evasive about the rating. The popcorn was passed. The lights dimmed. For 45 minutes, it was electric—robots, gunfights, the future unfolding in front of us.

And then... the eye scene.

My mother stood up like a switch had flipped. “If he cuts that eye, we’re leaving.”
He did.
We left.

The next day, while our parents were at work, my brother and I biked to the video store. Our friend behind the counter didn’t ask questions. He just handed over The Terminator. We watched it. Rewound it. Returned it before dinner.

My mom tried to shield us from something. But she ended up unlocking something else: curiosity.

In 2023, fewer than 14% of 13-year-olds in America read every day.
Fewer than one in seven. Meanwhile, PEN America has documented nearly 16,000 book bans in public schools nationwide since 2021, a number not seen since the McCarthy era of the 1950s.

It's not a coincidence.

You can’t hand kids a locked door and expect them not to look for a key.

When we shield kids from difficult truths or complex ideas, we don't protect them. We isolate them. We tell them their questions and experiences aren't valid. We push them to find answers elsewhere, often in less thoughtful, less nuanced spaces.

Fear never fosters curiosity.

Curiosity blooms in access, in experience, in open doors.

Perhaps the question isn’t whether the kids are ready for the story.
Perhaps the question is whether we’re willing to trust them with it.