Why We’re Talking About Jaws—And What My Three-Year-Old Taught Me About Sharks (and Surprises)
We don’t usually write about movies here. But today marks 50 years since Jaws premiered—and I can’t let it pass without remembering a moment that’s been swimming in my memory ever since. When Jaws hit theaters on June 20, 1975, my oldest daughter, Echo, was three years old. Like many three-year-olds, she had one deep and loyal obsession. Some kids latch onto dinosaurs, Scooby-Doo, or imaginary friends. Echo loved sharks. Not just liked them—loved them. She knew their names from pictures and could even read them: hammerhead was her favorite. We were lucky to live just up the street from Cannery Row, Monterey Bay, and the Wharf. The famed aquarium hadn’t yet been built, but the rhythms of marine life flowed through our little corner of the world, and Echo soaked it up. So naturally, when a movie came out about a shark, we took her to see it. At first, she was spellbound. She didn’t move, didn’t fidget—just stared, enraptured. Until near the end. That’s when she started to sn...