A young kid, his left arm amputated mid forearm, stood in the ticket-holder's line to see Finding Nemo. He couldn't have been more than four years old. Standing with his dad, he held the stump behind his back, cradled by his right hand.

I wondered how it happened. Had it been an accident? Had he been born right handed? I wondered if the father always makes sure he's on his son's right side, so that if he needs to grab his hand, there's a hand to grab.

A dozen little thoughts, and the line moved quickly, and soon he was gone, but his image stayed in my mind before finally dissolving into the weird glee I get before seeing any movie, especially when my own son is with me.

Nemo, it turns out, is a young fish with a stunted fin. It's about a third the size of his other fin. Nemo's father calls it his "lucky fin", and father and son have a ritual of saying, "Lucky fin!" and then doing the fish equivalent of a low-five hand-slap.

I got emotional thinking about the young amputee. Was Nemo's fin a painful reminder, or did he draw comfort? Was his father suddenly agonizing over the decision to see this movie, or will he use it as a way to make his son feel special and important because of his difference?

I found myself hoping the boy's father was reverent of his son's uniqueness, and that Nemo would become the boy's hero. I envisioned Nemo bedspreads, Nemo lunch boxes, Nemo "lucky fin" slaps between father and son.

I hoped it would all come true.