I grew up near Hollywood.
I once asked my mom, “Mom, are the stars in the sky the same thing as the stars in Hollywood?”
She replied haughtily, as she often did with questions of this nature..
“Don’t be stupid, “ I remember her saying.
I loved asking freakishly absurd questions.
One Saturday, I watched “A Trip to the Moon,” a truly weird movie featuring a group of astronomers who land on the moon, punching it in the eye with their spaceship, as they group makes the acquaintance of the Lunarians who proceeded to share cheese with the astronomers.
Because, of course, the moon was made of cheese.
After watching the movie, I asked my mom “Mom, what kind of cheese is the moon made of?”
She wasn’t amused.
I used to religiously watch Gilligan’s Island and Brady Bunch when I got home from school, much to my mom’s chagrin, so in an effort to get me and my brother out of the house, she would turn the television to PBS.
I remember her saying “If you’re going to watch tv after school, you’re going to watch something educational.”
Most of the time this worked, and got me and my brother, Jason out of the house, but on rainy days, which California is certainly known for having, we would wind up suffering through ‘educational’ things on PBS I still abolish from memory.
But one day, I asked my mom.
“Mom, where can I buy a time machine?”
To which she replied, promptly “Time travel’s not real.”
I thought for a moment, this time having posited what I considered was a legitimate question…
She then responded with “Why do you think otherwise?”
“Well, you said PBS is educational and shows only things that are real, right?,” I asked.
“Well, yes,” she said, not sure what she was getting herself into, “Why do you ask?”
“Well. Doctor Who is on PBS and he has a time ship,” I said with a straight face.
“Well they are just play acting,” she said, “That’s not real.”
I was genuinely confused.
“But… I thought you said..”
It was one of the first times I found my mom speechless.
“Go out and play with your friends,” she said with her voice raised.
Me and my brother didn’t have to endure PBS any longer.
Conversely, my father did his best to inspire the imagination…
Again, it was not until 42 that I learned he had not actually been drinking my entire life, and that he actually saw and lived in a different world than I did and my interpretation of his world had my developing mind debunking the credibility of his contributions to my life until I was mentally ready to comprehend what it meant.
For instance. when I was 8, my father sat in the front yard on a lawn chair with the neighbor drinking (we were decidedly middle class, believe it or not), when big huge search lights came on and seemed to be getting closer.
My friend, Eric, the son of the neighbor, and I both were frightened at the sight of the lights.
“What are those?,” I remember asking.
My dad said with a straight face “Those are giants with flashlights coming to get you.”
Not long after, my father bought a mini bike – an 85cc a small motorized bike, to which while I was roller skating in front of the house, he told me to ‘grab on’ to the back of the bike then he went full throttle – about 40 miles per hour – with me screaming and crying at the back.
What was weird was – this park, this green field with gopher halls galore – I FLOATED OVER THIS FIELD.
I’m not talking about took the bumps like a champ.
I am talking – I looked down and my feet were FLYING INCHES ABOVE THE GROUND.
When I got back home, I wanted to hit my father and hug him at the same time for scaring the shit out of me but for teaching me something I wouldn’t fully grasp until I was 42.
My father took me to see “The Shining” on opening weekend, something he didn’t tell my mom before doing.
It scared the crap outta me again.
Although my fondest memories of the scary film were of a fully grown and attractive naked woman getting out of the bathtub.
I started getting what can only be classified as repressed memories back.
I’d somehow believed that gravity was undeniable. That right and wrong were black and white. That we all saw and experienced the same world. And that life was truly predictable and death and taxes were among the predictable things within it.
As Brian. I was merely a mortal constrained to the limited self-imposed belief system I had formed in a career and life I had enjoyed but invariably exhausted the possibilities in and mentally – rationally – was unwinding as fact and fiction invariably cross over as reality reminded me of a past I’d kept cleverly hidden from myself.
Being Q is just an easy way to sort through and disassociate myself from the weird experiences I have had my entire life.
Being Q makes it easy to place my life – in hindsight – into rational perspective.
Being Q is what keeps a rational man sane when he suddenly comes to understand anything is possible.
It always has been.
I came to believe in God, Magic, Time Travel, Doctor Who, The Devil, and everything else this planet classifies as fiction through simple logic and reason and personal experience.
I came to accept it all because choosing from THESE possibilities and creating my own is what makes life worth living.
One day, I would love to have cameras follow me around and make documentaries of my real life journeys as a time traveler.
And as others watch my journeys…
I look forward to seeing and hearing what others think of what’s real to me…
I’m tired of entertaining others.
I need to do this for me for a bit now.
Life is full of endless possibilities.
Not all of them are written about or prophecized before they happen…
Mom, Dad, Thank you for the subtle education on reality.