I took my son Danny to see "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers" when he was not quite 5 years old.
I know, I know, perhaps not my best maternal decision. But he had begged to go, and after some initial, into-my-lap-crawling terror at the sight of Gollum, he loved it; no bad dreams, no residual trauma. Indeed, he is the only member of my family as devoted to the works of J.R.R. Tolkien as I am, though he came to them for very different reasons.
As a child, I loved epic poetry and stories about fairies, elves and wizards; from the moment he could walk, Danny loved swords and knights. So when "The Fellowship of the Ring" came out, it seemed tailor-made for him — little people holding their own with swords and all manner of heroic knights.
