I’ve always had an over-active imagination. As long as I can remember, I’ve created people, places, and things that could only exist within the confines of my mind. And I’ve always considered this a gift.
Recently, while reminiscing with childhood friends, they reminded me of the enjoyment my imagination brought, not only to myself but to others as well. You see, we grew up in an age where our toys where simply props which enhanced our imaginations. Simple garnish to the meat that was the characters and stories we created. As my friend Jeff pointed out, the first video games we played were comprised of digital squares that made up the landscape and components of the games. Three digital squares could be a first baseman on a baseball game, a horse in the Kentucky Derby, or a space alien invading Earth. But we had to imagine it; it wasn’t displayed with every detail as video games are today.
And our imagination wasn’t limited to video games. It was part of our everyday childhood. A tree branch could be a machine-gun, or a bone to a prehistoric animal, or Excalibur herself. It was fun. Often our summer days consisted of us just sitting around creating the worlds in which our minds would just wander; from sunrise to sunset. Magical.
Today, toys come equipped with story, character, and ending; bleeping sounds, bright lights, and moveable arms and legs. Little is left to imagination.
Now, I could easily launch into a rant about how today’s youth have little imagination, and really no prompts in order to create something beyond what they see on television or on a movie screen. But, that’s not what this is about.
As much as I’d like to think that I was born with an over-active imagination, that’s simply not the truth. While I consider it to be a gift I possess, it’s also one that I was given. Something bequeathed to me by the older of my two sisters, Laurie.
To this day, my imagination is still very much over-active. I’m excited by movie trailers, and mark on my calendar the opening days of those I plan to see. In some cases I even take the day off from work to ensure I’m among the first to see the film. A total nerd, through-and-through. In many ways, I see myself as Peter Pan, the boy who wouldn’t grow up. And I attribute that to my sister Laurie. She was Tinker Bell, sprinkling the pixie dust that allowed me to fly.
When I was small child, she would often craft her own stories, and I would be her audience, sitting wide-eyed as she unraveled tales of distant worlds and far-out characters. In later years, I would spend weekends at her apartment, and Laurie would take me to the movies, and we’d chat for hours about the characters and what we had just seen.
My big sis introduced me to Star Trek, the reruns of the original television show from the 1960s. I immediately became a Trekker, and I am still to this day. In 1977, Laurie took me to see Star Wars, and I remember sitting in the movie theater just mesmerized by the images before me. Over that summer I ended up seeing Star Wars 26 times, and my big sis was often in the seat next to me.
In the early 80s between the second and third installments of the Star Wars trilogy, Laurie and I crafted a plotline for what we thought the third movie should be. Believe it or not, ours was actually pretty close to what ended up on the silver screen when Return of the Jedi was released. (We came up with a story where the heroes went to the Wookie homeworld; we always liked Chewbacca. I know most of you are saying: “What in the world is he talking about?!?” But Star Wars nerds will understand and see the similarities.)
My sister would also take me to science fiction conventions, and I was exposed to a world with little judgment. After all, how can a guy with rubber pointed ears pass judgment on anyone? To this day, I still go to science fiction conventions. Just this past year, I hopped a plane and hit the mother of all geek fests – Comic Con in San Diego, Calif. As I walked through the massive convention hall and looked at the exhibits, attendees dressed in wild garb, and vendors pushing their wares, I couldn’t help but remember the first convention my sister took me to in Orlando, Fla. In San Diego, my eyes were filled with the same amazement and awe. Fantastic.
On Sunday, Jan. 2, 2011 at 10:40 p.m. my sister Laurie passed away. While this saddens me, I can’t help but imagine she’s traveled off to one of the distant worlds she created in her mind, and narrated to me so many years ago. As I write this, my thoughts are filled with the immense detail that poured out of her when she told her stories to me. There’s no doubt, she has transported to a better place.
So, as Peter Pan, I can say only one thing to my big sis, Laurie: “Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.”
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