One time when I was a kid, my mom left me in the care of my dad for the night. Somehow he made the grossly erroneous decision that I was old enough to watch Jaws. I'm not even sure I'm old enough to handle it now, so his math was off by at least thirty years. Good call, Dad. Before that night I didn't even know "scary" was an option for movies. I thought movies were about magical lands and singing animals. Five minutes into that thing I knew I never wanted to swim, bathe, or even run through the sprinklers again.
Luckily the Jaws sequels made sharks less scary by continuously increasing in absurdity. In Jaws II, the shark took down a helicopter. A little hard to swallow... both for me and for the shark. Jaws III featured a shark that was roughly the size of Florida. Hurry to Sea World, everyone... they finally got a Megalodon. In Jaws IV: The Revenge, a descendant of the original "Jaws" shark followed the Brody widow all the way to the Bahamas. This lady's husband died of a heart attack caused by his own intense fear of sharks, one of her sons was eaten by a shark, and her other son was studying in the Bahamas to become a marine biologist. Hey, Brodys... move inland! Coastal cities and islands aren't for people who've managed to offend multiple generations of great whites.
One time my sister's high school class watched Jaws on a big screen while sitting on rafts and tubes in the darkened city pool. What a great idea! Maybe the mutant who planned that activity can arrange for next year's seniors to watch Shawshank in Shawshank. Come for the popcorn... stay for the violent prison beatings. I don't even like watching Jaws on my couch... no way I'm watching it in (or near) a pool. Sharks are cool... if you like nightmares. And thanks to that night my dad was my babysitter, I've had a lot of them.