Regarding Mark Gauvreau Judge's Aug. 28 Outlook article, "What Happened to Silence at the Movies?":

When I was growing up in pre-Castro Cuba, talking at the movies was not considered impolite. Couples whispered sweet nothings, classmates commented on an actor or actress who resembled a teacher, and parents explained the action to their children. Aspiring comedians tried to make the audience laugh with wisecracks.

Because most of the movies we saw had subtitles, this talking never kept anybody from following the movie.

I was 15 when I came to the United States, and it did not take long to see the culture clash. So young Cuban immigrants of the early 1960s behaved one way in a Cuban neighborhood theater and another in a downtown theater. We wanted to be considerate, but we also wanted to enjoy the movies in the way that we knew.

These days I find that movie atmosphere from my childhood at local baseball games. I have a Bethesda Big Train season pass. At the games, friends wave and yell at other friends, cheer and boo players, and try to make funny remarks about the umpire's vision. As with the subtitled movies, noise doesn't seem to make anybody miss anything. I often even join the conversations of strangers.

Mr. Judge would love his movie-going to be the same experience that he had when he was young. I wish I could have the same experience at the movies that I had when and where I was young, too. But now I find it at Shirley Povich Field.