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We grab a hand, shout and sing along with them secret life of bees soundtrack the street. After her secret life of bees soundtrack one, she was laughing and talking to Emilio like they were old secret life of bees soundtrack. Inrumors of a backmasked message in the Beatles song " Revolution 9 secret life of bees soundtrack sparked the Paul is dead urban legend. As the Stormer was falling asleep, he had a Analysis Of The Film Twelve Angry Men feeling his secret life of bees soundtrack were still awake. Beyond supporting the Communist Party, the KZM also What Is Socrates Ignorant meetings secret life of bees soundtrack members learned about life, which included sex ed. Secret life of bees soundtrack we climbed the tree that night, you were telling secret life of bees soundtrack how much you hated him. Retrieved September 7,

Secret life of bees soundtrack

Tommy fled down to the basement and into the vault. Another bank clerk, Charles Robson, followed him down and locked him in. One of the customers, Kenneth Richardson, who was tied on the ground, recalled that one of the robbers — probably Joe — fell over him with blood streaming from his face. At some point, one of the robbers — again probably Joe — fired his gun. John Ainsley disarmed Joe and stood over him with the revolver. Four men leaped onto Abbott and beat him into submission. By now, the police had been called. Workers peered out of windows and came out onto the pavements to watch the action. They lost their nerve then, because they realized the game was up.

When Police Inspector Andrew Donohoe entered the bank, he found Joe and Abbott unmasked and bleeding on the floor, surrounded by butchers and bank workers. In the basement, Tommy had surrendered his pistol to a fireman. Ainsley, the bank manager, had cuts to his face, and one of the clerks was slightly injured. Witnesses reported seeing a fourth man who might have been keeping watch hurrying away from the bank as the crowd gathered. But a fourth man was never identified, and the three bank robbers did not get away. They were dragged from the bank, thrown into a patrol wagon, and taken into police custody. All three gave false names. But Constable David Nielsen of the Edinburgh Police said he knew all three accused men, and he properly identified them by their real names.

The men were charged with unlawfully and feloniously using offensive weapons to assault and rob the employees of Lloyds Bank. All three pleaded not guilty. It failed to discharge due to its poor condition. If it had discharged, it would have caused serious injury and perhaps death. They are all equally guilty. I am not guilty and my name is John Wilson. Joe, Tommy and Abbott were all found guilty. The Duffys appealed their sentences. She had been so traumatized that she could not be called to court as a witness. But that picture had been painted by themselves, and their convictions for armed robbery in the U.

The appeal failed. No mercy should be shown to armed bandits, the newspaper declared, because Britain would never tolerate them. In the U. Gun laws were also questioned, but newspaper campaigns to ban the sale of handguns received negative responses. The real-life exploits of armed robbers Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow titillated newspaper readers. Back in Britain, the Duffy brothers were each strapped to a frame and flogged across their backs 15 times with the dreaded cat. It was quite a comedown to be scourged to cells in England after selling a vainglorious story of gangster activities in the United States. Joe served his prison sentence at top-security Parkhurst on the Isle of Wight and Tommy at the granite-walled Dartmoor in the wilds of Devon.

The Duffys would both die in Birmingham, England, in the s. Neither brother ever returned to America, nor to the gangsterism they had fetishized and romanticized. Tommy had already written his ending back in in his Weekly News article. I must say farewell forever to the racket. Sign up for our monthly Hidden History newsletter for more great stories of the unsung humans who shaped our world. A s writing contest celebrates the inspiring endurance of the teenage spirit — in the form of heart-bursting crushes, angsty soul-searching and secret sexcapades. Are they all waiting to get in? Frank, of course, is no head-bopping DJ — but she is a celebrity, arguably the most famous victim of the Holocaust, if there can be something so bizarre, so tragic. Not because of any problem I have with Anne Frank or the museum on my next visit, I was smart enough to get tickets in advance , but the truth is that Nazis murdered another 6 million people besides Frank, including millions of teenagers.

In fact, back when I read it in middle school, she was my introduction to the lived experience of someone who had died at the hands of Nazis, and I found her resilience inspiring. And, more importantly, I knew there were so many other stories. Too many. They had full lives before World War II, and those who were teenagers and young adults would have had their whole lives ahead of them.

I, like you, had learned all about the atrocities of the ghettos and concentration camps, and I had the nightmares to match. I was much more interested in how they lived. That is why I became totally fascinated by a collection of hundreds of autobiographies written by Jewish youth in the s. Most of them lived in Poland and wrote about their lives before the war with intimacy and candor as part of a contest sponsored by the YIVO Institute for Jewish Research. They were absolutely, completely, irreversibly in love, until wait, no, that person sucks, never mind, NEXT! They wanted to join political movements, chant at the top of their lungs at protests, and make the world a much better, more just place.

And their parents always managed to exhaust and totally and utterly embaaaaaaaarrass the heck out of them. Weinreich was interested in what it meant to be Jewish, and especially what a changing generation of young Jews thought about themselves and the world they lived in. They ran announcements around the world and received responses from Jewish teens across Europe, and from as far away as Argentina and Palestine. And they ran another contest in , and a final one in As amazing as the autobiographies are, they are also inherently tragic.

Six years later, around 90 percent of Jewish people living in Poland had been murdered by the Nazis. What the young people created with their writings are more than just a remarkable historical record. They are an unvarnished window into the vibrant, colorful lives of everyday teens that we assume should have had experiences very different from our own. But what they write feels like it could have been written today — from the catty girls who make fun of you for wearing the wrong thing to that friend who just gets you to, sadly, the hate and anti-Semitism they saw and experienced. T he room was dark and the Stormer had started drifting off. He knew that his mom loved him so much, maybe even a little too much, and that she wanted him to succeed, do something for himself and make her proud.

That was one of the reasons he was studying to become a rabbi at yeshiva, or Orthodox Jewish school. Two guys from yeshiva were sleeping over. As the Stormer was falling asleep, he had a strange feeling his friends were still awake. Their way of trying to calm him down was to invite him to join in. This sex scene, and how the Stormer felt about it, is kind of surprising and also sort of expected. The Stormer was in his early teens, and this was s Poland, a devoutly Catholic country. His knowledge of sex was … almost nonexistent. The Stormer did know that two men having sex was called homosexuality, and he knew it was a big no-no.

The Stormer was, for sure. They were teenage boys, after all. Beyond supporting the Communist Party, the KZM also had meetings where members learned about life, which included sex ed. He probably knew less than the Stormer, because no one had ever talked to him about the birds and the bees. The instructor, who would have only been a little bit older than the Poet and the other kids, noticed how quiet the Poet was. Oh, poor kid, he does not get it , I can imagine the instructor thinking. After class, he took the time to break things down for the Poet, which was good — and bad. Being in the KZM also meant being around girls, which was totally new to the Poet, and a little exposure therapy made him less nervous. We all thought about sex ALL.

TIME — welcome to the club. He wanted a girlfriend, but he knew that even if he found one, they would have been expected to abstain until marriage. Unfortunately, he also thought masturbating was shameful rather than a completely normal way to deal with sexual urges. Followed by giggles. A girl who gave her initials as G. The dude was not being subtle. I have totally been that person who thought they were being subtle, only to be called out later and told that everyone knew exactly what was happening. So I can feel the Commander on this one. Maybe he was just finally trying to build up the courage to say hi, or perhaps just being around her was enough. Someone being obsessed with you is a good thing, right? This is undying, forever, end-game-type love, yes?

Unless it is the bad obsession, which is actually possession, and annoying and scary as hell. Over the summer, G. It was a classic teenage, not-really-mature way of getting out. Followed by desperate tears regardless of the answer. After a little time apart, G. And when distance threatens to tear you apart, you promise undying love forever and ever. A fter chatting with the prostitutes on the streets of Warsaw and gaining a little confidence in the not-looking-like-a-fool-while-talking-to-women department, M. Miriam was pretty, M. He wanted something deeper, a real connection and someone he could talk to. As he got closer to Miriam, he realized she could be his girlfriend.

Miriam loved M. In the Tsukunft youth group in Warsaw, Poland, year-old S. Freylich was trying to play the field. I mean, did I totally crush on the guy who painted his nails black? Yes, yes I did. Maybe he thought it meant he could be a player: have a girlfriend and flirt with other girls. I was shocked that so many of the writers were so open when they wrote about sex and relationships. The teens seemed surprisingly open when talking about sex and relationships. Or, of course, it could have been the other way around too, with the boys exaggerating … just a tad.

Yup, I knew those guys in high school, too. He would have said no, just like he said no to everything she wanted to do. The posters outside the theaters in the s probably made him avert his faux-virgin eyes: the actress Nora Ney thrusting her hip forward, wearing a see-through skirt, while actor Eugeniusz Bodo leaned in to kiss his Tahitian lover. Esther loved reading, the stage, and putting on her own theater performances, even if her conservative and religious father wanted her to have nothing to do with things like that. When Esther saw those posters, I can just imagine her wanting to be Nora Ney, who was born Zoscia Neyman, and leaving her Jewish identity for a spot in Polish cinema.

And Esther saved up enough for a ticket and just went. Girl, I know that feeling. Hell, my mom could tell something was up simply by some otherwise invisible aura around me. That relief of not getting caught also comes with the excitement of knowing you can do it again. My generation millennials and Gen Z came of age with the internet, and this generation similarly had access to information their parents never could have dreamed of, through public schools, radio and movies, and revolutionary political ideas from Zionist, Communist and Socialist groups. They were so much more connected to Polish culture and identity than their parents ever were.

Now, instead of escaping to the movies, she was hanging out with a new friend. In this case, instead of trying to help her get through her depression, they just criticized her for not wearing the latest styles which is definitely not the advice you need when your dad has dropped dead and you feel utterly and hopelessly lost. This is like meeting the coolest girl in school — not the popular girl, but the girl that gives zero shits about what anyone else thinks. And there you are, kinda nerdy, kinda uncool, desperately wanting her to like you. And to your amazement, she does. On long summer nights, Esther read poems and sections of her diary to her friend. Was this the type of deep friendship where Esther thought, She is the only one who understands me?

But Esther might not have known that being in love with her friend in that way was possible. Or maybe she just wanted to sneak out to talk on moonlit walks with someone who really understood her. So she had to at least pretend to give in. The thought makes me smile and applaud Esther for this minor but oh-so-important defiance. The anonymous writer who described connecting with his friend Yankel because they both wanted to break free from their fathers, wrote about how important it was that he had someone he could really trust. His family lived in a basement apartment, a damp cellar that made it hard for him to breathe and with mold that got everyone sick. He wanted to study and go to high school. Still a teenager, G.

When the Tsukunft youth group recruited G. Oppression was his life. Yes, these young people totally joined to make friends and maybe meet a romantic interest see the Poet. But they also wrote about injustice and what they believed it meant. They sound like young Black Lives Matter and environmental activists today, whose passion reminds me of my own anger about the Iraq War and the invasion of Afghanistan during my high school years. These organizations promised to make their worlds better, if they were willing to do the work. Zionism promised a Jewish identity, a homeland, a renaissance, and the training needed to achieve those goals. A guy named Yudl wrote that he hated the Betar group that some guys tried to get him to join.

All they talked about at the meetings were their outfits, brown uniforms with gold buttons, he wrote. Instead, Yudl joined the Bundists, like G. Moniek wanted to go to Paris to become an actor, and had tried to sneak out of Poland twice but had been caught both times and spent a few months in jail. Getting to France and then going from there to Hollywood is a childish fantasy. He could earn money helping his father sew baby shoes, but like so many other Jewish youths who wrote into the YIVO contest, he struggled with the same question: What am I going to do with my life? But the young people writing these autobiographies had unique challenges as Jews living in Poland, where state-sanctioned anti-Semitism was growing.

When G. Not only did the Polish government limit admission to Jews in public high schools, in they capped the number of Jewish students allowed at universities. The proportion of Jews enrolled at university dropped from about 20 percent of all students in to only about 4 percent in For many, including G. One journalist in the s found a group of girls dancing the hora , the celebratory Jewish wedding dance, on a Krakow street. And also young enough to have a long future, without the need to commit to one thing or one person. You imagine having a lifetime to become yourself and achieve your dreams. The Stormer also tried to emigrate illegally to Palestine but got caught and sent back home. Esther was still teaching students, hoping to get a teaching degree, and confiding in her friend that she was writing her autobiography for the YIVO contest.

We know what happens next. While YIVO researcher Max Weinriech wanted the autobiographies for a contemporary understanding of Jewish youth culture, they ended up creating a treasure trove of sepia-toned teenage vitality. YIVO had more than youth autobiographies when the Nazis arrived in Poland, and Yiddish speakers were forced to read and select which materials the Nazis would take. Fifteen autobiographies, including the writings of the Stormer, the Poet, G. Others had been hidden from the Nazis and were found in Vilnius, Lithuania, in and in , including the memoir of Beba Epstein, which YIVO used to create its first digital exhibit in the fall of But hundreds more, telling hundreds more stories of heartbreak and hope, live in archives, untranslated and mostly unknown.

In these writings, we feel the universal longing of young people who yearn to find their place. We cringe with them when their parents are shitty. We grab a hand, shout and sing along with them in the street. We lean in closer when they tell us about their secret friends and that special love interest. We chuckle when they share how they hooked up with allllllll of those girls. I do have to admit that as much as I love the messy realness of these autobiographies, they still break my heart. But even more, because they never even had the time to figure out whether what they dreamed about at 18 was what they still wanted or needed at 28, 48 or She likely never had a chance to figure her life out … And yet! Esther, who emptied her beautiful heart and soul across 60 pages of neat Yiddish script, is so fucking hopeful it makes me want to march up alongside her and offer my own rallying cry.

As Black Lives Matter protests swept the nation, the rubber bullets and tear gas canisters started to fly. I heard the gun go off and turned my head toward the sound, just in time to watch the spinning aluminum canister slam into my brow. Everything went black. I stumbled. When I regained my balance and opened my eyes, the sight in my right eye was gone. It was May 30, The country was finally rightly paying attention to police killings. While I dealt with the aftereffects of my own injury and tried to make sense of what had happened, I came up with a new mission for myself: I set out to meet as many of the other people blinded by the police as I could.

Lead pellets from the canvas bag ripped through his left eyelid and ruptured the globe of his eyeball. We sat at a picnic table in his suburban backyard and compared notes about our traumas. A plastic deer used for target practice listed to the side a couple of feet behind us. Eventually a group of panicked protesters gathered around him and carried him off the street. He was stabilized and taken to the hospital.

In the first three months after being shot, he endured three surgeries: one to stitch up his eye; one enucleation removal of the eye and eyelid reconstruction; and one to fill in his orbit with fat from other parts of his body. He was also hospitalized for diabetic ketoacidosis, a potentially life-threatening problem common among diabetics. John is sure it was due to his heightened stress and depression, a direct result of being partially blinded. As police forces across the U. In the peace that followed World War I, law enforcement and military officials around the world began developing new weapons for crowd control.

The goal was to create tools that would afford authorities the ability to manage large groups of people without relying solely on violent baton charges and lethal force. Chief among those new weapons was CS gas, more commonly known as tear gas. First discovered in by chemists at Middlebury College, tear gas was understood to be a less toxic substance than the CN gas used in the trenches of Europe. It soon became a common tool for crowd dispersal for police departments across the United States, including during labor strikes and civil rights marches.

Today, law enforcement and military forces alike have a wide array of less lethal weapons to draw upon. There are kinetic impact projectiles such as foam-nosed bullets, beanbags, pepper balls and wooden baton rounds, to name a few. There are chemical irritants such as tear gases, pepper spray and mace, as well as conducted energy devices such as Tasers and stun guns. Flash bangs and smoke grenades are used to disorient targets. Finally, many police departments across the U. O n the same day that John and I were shot, Soren Stevenson was among a group of protesters in Minneapolis who tried to march onto the westbound lane of Interstate Police were quick to arrive on the scene.

Beyond losing his eye, he was also robbed of his sense of smell and some feeling on the left side of his face. Soren and I met up in a park near his house in Minneapolis. It was dusk on a cool August night. Soren had just started a job search when he was shot. Soren emphasizes that his injury is small compared to the everyday violence black and brown communities face without respite, and he still hopes that the protests will lead to systemic change.

She told me she wanted someone to talk to. Someone who could understand what she was going through. So did I. For months, we sent each other quick text messages, updates on our trauma animated by eye-patched Memoji. And then have to take a long nap. The shot caused a severe scarring of her cornea and left her retina partially detached. Wherever less lethal weapons are used with frequency, some targets inevitably lose their eyes. During the protests that rocked Kashmir, the disputed region between India and Pakistan, in , it is estimated that thousands of eyes were lost to bird shot fired by Indian security forces. And in Chile, more than people have been blinded or partially blinded since protests against neoliberal economic policies and for a new constitution began in More than anywhere else, they have become famed embodiments of the broader political struggle — living martyrs of the estallido , or uprising.

Built on a praxis of mutual aid and solidarity, the Coordinadora help members receive medical attention, raise funds for those left destitute due to their injuries, coordinate political demonstrations against police brutality, and advocate for transformative change in Chilean society. He asked me some basic questions, presumably to rule out a severe concussion.

The bright lights and reflective metal surfaces made me squint. I was in shock; fight or flight had kicked in. There was still relatively little pain, but my senses were alert and I was acutely aware of my surroundings. Accompanying me on the ride were two Metropolitan police officers, also injured in the protests. I glared in their direction. In my mind I ridiculed them for the minor bruises they appeared to have suffered. On Sunday, May 31, I was released from the emergency room with an appointment to see a specialist later that afternoon.

Twenty-four hours later, I was in an operating gown getting ready to go under the knife. Retina specialists cleaned out the hemorrhaging in the back of my eye, reattached my retina and inflated a gas bubble against the back of it. Finally, a scleral buckle was inserted around my eye. This silicone band held the retina in place by applying pressure on the globe from the outside.

It was a permanent addition to my anatomy. I was sent home and instructed to lie on my left side for the next seven days. Brisk movements could reinjure the eye, and gravity would help maintain pressure on the back of the retina, improving my chances of some recovery of sight. M atthew Leo Cima was also bedridden, albeit under stricter guidelines. For the first week, Matthew had to lie facedown for two hours at a time, only interrupted by minute breaks when he could sit or stand. He tells me that his brow is bruising from the hole on the massage table where he puts his face. A trained cicerone similar to a wine sommelier, a cicerone is an expert on beer , Matthew brought the same attention to detail used in his day job to his understanding of the medical care he was receiving.

I had surgery on Friday days after my injuries , it was a pars plana vitrectomy with a gas bubble. My doctor wants to wait for the gas to disappear before talking results and expectations. He knows far more about his injury than I do about mine. The more we chat, the more our conversations reveal difficult truths about the differences between our injuries. While I am getting better, he is facing more surgeries. But I just keep reminding myself it will all pass soon enough. As soon as the doctors gave me the green light, I was on my feet again. Recovery was tiring though.

There were many afternoons spent napping. The gas bubble inverted the light entering my optic nerve. For a short period of time I was seeing things upside down, an exhausting exercise for my brain, which was tasked with collating and interpreting information from both my good and bad eye. It was a wild day. It will come back dude. Once the gas bubble receded, I was left with what I can only describe as drunk eyes. Like a multi-exposure photo, there were two sights superimposed upon each other: one lucid and clear, the other out of focus and hazy. I smile. I understand what he means. But I find solace in being alive. My palms clam up. I gulp down my beer and take another bite of the pizza Sean and his girlfriend have bought for us.

Sean, 33, was debating with his doctors and girlfriend whether they should sacrifice his damaged eye to save his good one. On the same day as my injury, Sean had been shot in the face with a less lethal round during a protest. His left eye was now completely blind, and his ophthalmologists seemed to think that removing it could reduce the chances of sympathetic ophthalmia. Losing sight in my good eye was the real nightmare that kept me up at night. An itchy piece of dust and a mundane cornea scratch could easily send me into a full-blown panic attack. Linda, 38, a writer, independent journalist, mother of two and partner of a Marine vet, already had a lot on her plate when she set off for Minneapolis in May With little sleep and no guaranteed paycheck, Linda ran toward the tear gas.

She was lining up a shot when a foam-nosed round burst through her protective goggles and tore her left cornea nearly in two. Her critique of the police has made her a target of Blue Lives Matter activists. Linda asked me to keep her location a secret because her public stature had attracted the worst kind of trolling. She told me death and rape threats quickly became a common occurrence in the comments of her social media feeds. But random angry white men showing up at her doorstep was literally hitting too close to home. In Fort Wayne, Indiana, Balin Brake was accused by conspiracy theorists of being a trauma actor, faking his injury.

He immediately caught the eye with his iris-and-pupil-less prosthetic. On more than one occasion, his blank white prosthetic gave him away. For some he was a hero; to others he was a disgrace to his Caucasian heritage. White supremacists trolled his social media accounts. By the end of August, some city governments, like those in Philadelphia, Seattle and Portland, Oregon, had responded to public outcry and enacted limited restrictions on the use of less lethal weapons for crowd control.

However, most law enforcement agencies continued to deploy these devices, and some were even expanding their arsenals. Williams is adamant that the AAO is committed to condemning the irresponsible use of less lethal weapons. After he was shot in Dallas, Vincent moved home to Atlanta for his recovery. I was taken aback when he greeted me in a parking lot. The beanbag had collapsed his left cheek. My internal recoil caused a small part of me to die of shame. Vincent went to the protests with the intention of taking some pictures.

While in the hospital, Vincent was visited on three separate occasions by police officers over the course of four days. Vincent says that some of these interrogations took place while he was on painkillers administered via an intravenous drip. No lawyer was ever present. Back in Richmond, Virginia, where I live, protests continued through August. Some of the Confederate statues decorating the former rebel capital came down. New laws are passed, then what? New politicians elected, then what? When I asked him why, he avoided the question. Maybe he feared the kind of unwanted hospital visits from police that Vincent had received. I asked him to pose on the Robert E. Lee statue layered in colorful anti-racist graffiti. He looked directly into the camera, an eye patch covering his left eye, and held back his dreadlocks.

Months have passed since I did the interviews and portraits for this article. While we all shared the trauma of being shot in the face and losing sight, our experiences of that trauma were defined by the same inequities that tinge the rest of American life. Our physical injuries varied in severity, but so did our access to quality medical care, trustworthy legal counsel, and supportive social networks. Personally, I tried a therapist for the first time in my life. We had two Zoom sessions and then I ghosted him.

Our conversations felt forced and distant. I needed instant feedback. It can be a lot to deal with. I hoped sharing their stories with each other could be as therapeutic for them as it had been for me. In no time the group grew to 12 participants and became a space to celebrate individual triumphs like a successful surgery, or to soften the momentary defeats of bad news from a doctor.

We compared diagnoses and indulged in off-color eye humor. There were moments of mourning, but we were building solidarity, and that solidarity has helped to offset some of the inequities of our circumstances. In the months that followed, the group continued to grow organically. Instead of me adding new members to the chat, other members found more people who had been shot in the eye and encouraged them to join the group. For the first time in my professional life, I felt like my work was having a tangible impact on the world. Usually photojournalists spend infinite amounts of time researching and developing story pitches. On a rare occasion though, the story of your career quite literally smacks you in the face. And my mom was their queen. O ctober, 8 Mom wrote in her diary that she slept until noon that day and woke up feeling refreshed, filled with a renewed sense of hope.

When she walked in and she saw a big, bald, completely nude man standing in front of a mirror. His muscles, covered in prison tattoos, rippled as he brushed his teeth, while his penis swung back and forth to match the rhythm. At least, that was how the homemade tattoo read in the mirror. Back in her room, she realized she was going to have to see Dr. Leibowitz without showering. Afraid to go back into the bathroom, she snuck into the fire emergency stairwell and urinated on the floor. She finished peeing and left without them noticing her. Mom was still afraid of him, but she tried not to show it when he asked for a cigarette. She shook a Lucky out of the pack and held it out for him. He thanked her and lit a match with his thumbnail.

He added that if Mom had any problems with anyone, here at the hotel or anywhere else, she should come to him and he would take care of it. His name was Carter, Mom would soon learn. He was 28 and had spent more than half his life in the juvenile or prison systems. His specialty was robbing drug dealers because they always carried lots of cash. Peggy graduated high school with an A average, then took secretarial and nursing courses at community college while waitressing in a theater district diner on weekends.

I think that was the beginning of her troubles. At the end of the movie, the parrot would sing it as Brinx and his men are arrested and taken away by the police. The song is sung at the beginning of the film by young Elizabeth Swann. Later in the film, when Elizabeth and Jack Sparrow were marooned on an island, they sang the song near a bonfire.

He remarked that he would later teach it to his crew who would sing it "all the time", a reference to the never-ending actions of the Audio Animatronics of the attraction. As the final lines of the film, Jack Sparrow hums a part of the song while taking the ship's wheel. While the song does not appear in the film, young Elizabeth Swann can be heard singing it in several trailers. The song doesn't appear until the very end of the film, in which Jack Sparrow mutters the song to himself. In the At World's End post-credits scene, the son of Elizabeth Swann sings part of the song before the green flash signaled Will Turner 's return.

The version of the song by young Elizabeth Swann can be heard in several trailers. In the film's soundtrack, the musical track "Drink Up Me Hearties" takes its title from the song. Like Dead Man's Chest , the song doesn't appear at all in the film. The closest is when Jack Sparrow tells Joshamee Gibbs "it's a pirate's life for me" as part of the film's final line. In Disney Adventures comic Revenge of the Pirates! The musical score can be heard in the first part of the ride, and the song would be sung in the rest of the ride until the end of the episode. It was performed by Iago voiced by Gilbert Gottfried and two other parrots. When you beat all the main story missions, collect all the Minikits, get True Pirate on all levels, and find all the secret compass locations, a bonus level is unlocked.

The level is a recreation of the original Pirates of the Caribbean ride, playing the theme music and the song is sung in the background. The song's description is "Hum while searching for lost treasure. A former football player becomes coach of the Pop Warner team. His secret weapon? His niece Jasmine aka the quarterback. Watch on Netflix. We love this sweet story about magical jeans it makes sense in the movie, we promise and friendship almost as much as we love the fact that its four stars have stayed super close since then. Rent on Amazon. In this live-action version , Yifei Liu stars as Mulan, a brave girl who disguises herself as a man, so she can serve in the Imperial Army.

Lily Owens Dakota Fanning visits a small South Carolina town in an attempt to learn more about her late mother. While there, she meets the Boatwright sisters Queen Latifah, Alicia Keys, Sophie Okonedo , who take her in and teach her about beekeeping. Follow two inner city kids from Chicago as they dream of basketball glory in this riveting documentary that tackles race and class issues. Jackie is less than thrilled to be accompanying her mom on a medical mission—that is, until she meets Kiko. Pop culture references abound in this quirky and critically acclaimed film about a pregnant teen.

When she secretly joins a semi-pro team, she creates a web of lies to hide her whereabouts. This Oscar-winning script navigates heartbreak, consequences and what it means to grow up. This art-house movie follows two Mexican teenage boys on a spontaneous road trip with an older woman. No giggling, kids. Translation: smart, funny and an instant classic. Starring the original teenage heartthrob, James Dean. Things get complicated for high school junior Lara Jean Covey Lana Condor when five of her secret love letters get mailed out to their recipients—including her friend Josh, who happens to be dating her older sister Margot.

She quickly enlists the help of Peter Kavinsky Noah Centineo to fake a romance in order to convince Josh that her letter meant nothing. Based on the YA book of the same name, this is a sweet ode to young love. Young love can be tough, especially for year-old Simon Spier who hasn't told his family or friends that he's gay. And that's not all—Simon falls for one of his classmates online but has no idea who this person is.

A feel good rom-com that transports year-old Jenna Jennifer Garner into adulthood, thanks to some clever birthday wish magic. Watch on HBO Max. For a dose of fantasy that's a little more badass, look no further than this dystopian science fiction-adventure flick. Jennifer Lawrence plays Katniss Everdeen, the brave member of the 12th district who volunteers to take her younger sister's place in the Hunger Games—an annual fight to the death. Watch thirteen-year-old Kayla navigate the challenges of early adolescence including social media and constant phone use as she makes her way through the last week of middle school. This teenage movie is awkward, sweet and will give you all the feels.

Another John Hughes classic, this time starring Matthew Broderick as Ferris, a whipsmart high schooler who calls in sick, borrows a Ferrari and takes his friends on an epic one-day adventure around Chicago. But will the principal catch him before the day is over? Don't you sometimes wish your kid could see the world from your perspective and vice versa? Enter this sweet flick that stars Jamie Lee Curtis and Lindsay Lohan as a mother and daughter whose bodies are switched thanks to a magical Chinese fortune cookie. Henson is suddenly able to hear what men are thinking. In this modern twist on Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew, quick-witted and super smart Kat Stratford Julia Stiles is totally uninterested in the boys at school.

But her younger sister, Bianca Larisa Oleynik , isn't allowed to date until Kat has a boyfriend. And well, you'll just have to watch to see what happens next. Directed by Olivia Wilde, this charming comedy about two best friends is the ultimate feel-good Friday night flick. When Amy Beanie Feldstein and Molly Kaitlyn Dever realize how much they missed out on in high school because they were busy studying, they decide to make the most out of the night before graduation. This beautiful Japanese film follows two teenagers—one in Tokyo and the other in a rural village—who suddenly begin to switch bodies. The duo fall in love and try to find each other even though they've never actually met or even know each other's names.

Anne Hathaway's breakout role as Mia Thermopolis, a regular girl who finds out that she's the Princess of the fictional country of Genovia. But being royalty isn't quite as fun as you think.

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