Parenthood: Boundless Joy and Terror

I realize I've taken a departure from actually writing about science fiction in a blog I initially dedicated to writing about science fiction. And this post is no exception. Sorry to those who may be looking forward to my sci-fi rants. I'll get back to it. I promise.

Being a parent scares the hell out of me.

I'm sure I'm not the first, nor the last, to express this statement. But this is what has been weighing on my mind lately since I will be a father to three teenagers in less than two years and four in less than 6 years. I can almost simultaneously hear groans from those who have not experienced parenting teenagers and chuckles from those who have. I'm just not quite prepared to move on to this stage in life.

Now, I've heard of the raging hormones, the rebellious escapades, the binge-like appetites and even, dare I say it, dating. I've considered most other possible aspects of teenager-related behavior and, honestly, I feel I can handle those scenarios.

It helps to have a loving, intelligent wife who is better with kids than I am. And it also works to my advantage to have resources like my mother and in-laws to assist in the process as well. I know I am not alone in handling the teenager years and I am thankful for that, but there is one issue I simply cannot accept and can see many dark days and sleepless nights that will be caused by this issue.

My tremendous fear is this: I fear for my children's loss of innocence.

The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that one of the main reasons we enjoy and cherish not only our kids, but children in general, is to witness this golden aura we call 'innocence.' I love seeing this in children, in particular, my own. They simply live freely. Freer than you or me. The innocence of a child is such an unadulterated expression of joy and happiness, it is simply unsurpassed by any adult because at some point, that innocence disappears. And then we 'grow up,' as they say. And I suppose I am jealous of that innocence and wish I still possessed the freedom that came with it.

Don't get me wrong, I am not talking about innocence in a sexual way, but innocence in the sense that things and people and the world and life is simple and can be separated in terms of black and white, right and wrong. It is the recognition of the darkness in the universe that eventually infects our once-cheery outlook on our surroundings that becomes the assassin of naivete. And I fear I will have to see my children suffer through that transition.

I recognize it is part of life and they need to experience that and become a 'full person' as they grow up. But it the acceptance of such that I find impossible to digest. I want my kids to stay young. And perhaps by witnessing their youth firsthand, I, too, can remain young.

I have to go now. My son wants to have a Pokemon battle with me. I will weep when I truly bury the innocence of my child. But, until then, I can savor its last breaths.

Turn it Off!

Television is the thief of time.

Well, television by itself is an inanimate object, but the act of watching television is a huge time dump. Easier said than done, I know. Considering all the options available to us not only from the major networks, but also good programming from cable channels, such as HBO and the History channel, and with the growing popularity of streaming shows like Netflix and Amazon, there are not enough hours in the day. And I like watching tv. Being a writer who is always in the mood for a good story, watching television is a great source for good stories.

The trick is finding such stories amongst the myriad of crap that is currently being shown.

It was the end of the day last night at around 11:00pm. This was the rare time of day I allow myself to find something to watch as I wind down my day (and my mind). Looking at Amazon, it literally took me 20 minutes for me to find something that looked halfway interesting. The problem is that now that Amazon is partnered with premium channels like HBO and Showtime, they carry some of their series, which, being HBO and Showtime, somehow justifies gratuitous sex and violence. Um, no. Not in my house.

I finally found something and, being a two part show, it will probably take me another 2-3 days to finish it. No binge-watching for me. The only time I have binge-watched anything was when I had a sinus infection and blew through a season or two of The Big Bang Theory. And this is the gist of my diatribe: Do we REALLY need to see it all?

If you noticed in series writing, there is always expository dialog at the beginning to catch you up on what is going on. Or, from a literal sense, there will be a "previously on [insert your show here]" at the beginning of the show to bring to light any relevant information pertinent to the current episode. With that said, why binge?

Someone once told me that they can't watch a sequel until after they saw the previous movie(s). Why? Any sequel must be written in such a way so that it is not only a continuation but also a stand-alone story. My life does not increase in enrichment since I've seen all the episodes of M.A.S.H. (which I haven't). Why give such power to something so meaningless as a projected fantasy? Why allow something so banal have such control over your life?

Here is staggering statistic: From the 2015 report from the Bureau of Labor Statistics: "Watching TV was the leisure activity that occupied the most time (2.8 hours per day), accounting for more than half of leisure time, on average, for those age 15 and over." That works out to almost 20 hours per week. That's a part-time job.

I don't want to preach, but imagine what you can do with an extra 20 hours per week. Or even another 10 hours per week. I'm not saying through the tv away. But take a look at what is controlling your time and therefore, your life.

Take back your time. Take back your life.

I Love Mondays

Garfield I am not.

Yes, it's true. I love Mondays. I know some of you are probably swearing up a storm at me as you grab your savior-in-a-cup, also known as coffee, and slowly make your way to your desk at work. And that's fine. The general consensus about Monday is quite the opposite of my opinion. It is the longest day. It is the day we have to go and sell our time and knowledge for a day's pittance. It is the day furthest from Friday. It is a swirling black hole of responsibilities, meetings, traffic and motivation through fear. A bit dramatic? Probably. Yet spot on for most? Also, probably.

For me, it's all a matter of perspective. I can gripe about my job, but I can also be grateful for having a job. I can complain about having to endure mind-numbing traffic, but I can appreciate the fact that I have a car. And I can whine about the ridiculous amount of money I shell out every month in health insurance premiums, but I love being able to support my family and provide the healthcare they need.

I also look at Mondays as a new beginning, the promise of new possibilities, the opportunity to accomplish much in the week. For me, Fridays are kind of a letdown. On a Friday, I have to finish what I can before the weekend, which is filled up with social obligations and family outings, thereby preventing the productivity I cherish so much. Yes, Mondays are the days in which I am most energized, having rested over the weekend. I am most alert and the most organized. Mondays for me are a clean slate, for the reset button has been pressed.

So grab your cup of coffee, sit at your desk and stare into your computer screen as you wait for the caffeine to take effect. And when it does, will you choose to wallow in the misery of your own dreaded 'Monday?' Or will you get out your calendar and plan to do something great? God gave you your job, your car, your money, your body, your sight, your mobility, your life. And He also gave you a choice. Choose wisely.

I choose to leave Garfield in the comics. I never liked lazy cats anyway.

Team Human

A few years back, a certain teen-oriented, sci-fi/fantasy/horror/chick-flick came out and the nation (if not the world) chose sides. One side called themselves "Team Edward" and the other "Team Jacob."

The rest of us didn't care.

Yes, the Twilight series was a lot of fun and had some interesting elements and action in it, but for the most part, it was a reflection of how our youth regard our race, our species. It seems they loath it.

I suppose there was a third choice: "Team Human," which no one who was a fan of the films would ever think to pick. How were the humans depicted?

1. Dumb: Bella's dad, Charlie, never figured out the Cullen's strange secret until they had to TELL him in the 3rd or 4th movie. And he is a lawman who is supposed to be trained to be observant?
2. Weak: Charlie's native american friend is in a wheel chair, several depictions of humans being used as a food source for vampires, and Bella being tossed around like a Raggedy Ann, who is more emotionally involved than the actress.
3. General Dorkiness: Look at any one of Bella's friends and their behavior makes you want to weep for humanity.

Emotions are so last week, ya know?Like totally.

On the contrary, Vampires are cool.

1. Powers: All vampires have different powers and they are cool and useful. For once, I would like to see a superhuman possess a power that was completely lame, like the power to produce Kleenex out of thin air.
2. Strong: Tossing around Bella like the aforementioned doll is not only evidence of super strength, it was also an answer to many inward prayers.
3. Coolness Factor: With that much product in Edward's hair, how couldn't this man be cool?

And to top it all off, the main character, Bella, herself is disgusted with her human-ness. At the end of the first movie, it was clear that she WANTED to be a vampire. Apparently, she hates being warm to the touch and not looking like a disco ball in the sunlight. Additionally, at one point in the series, her pathetic human body was wasting away due to the stronger vampire hybrid embryo growing inside her. And the only solution, her only salvation, was to become a vampire. Yes, the deed that won the day was essentially killing off her humanity so she could celebrate death for eternity.

Is this the right role model we want our youth to embrace? 

Meanwhile, all of America was in an uproar about killing a gorilla in Cincinnati. While it is unfortunate this had happened, it was surprising at how vocal and passionate people became about it. I am surprised because roughly 125,000 babies are aborted each day. EACH DAY.

And we, as a country, are silent.

Would we still be silent if it were 125,000 cats? 125,000 gorillas?

My point is that why does our society hold animals in such high regard and seem to care nothing for other people? Don't get me wrong: pets are great. Treating animals with respect and kindness is the right thing to do. But once we completely write off humans, it is a slippery slope indeed.

I am Team Human. I don't sparkle in the sunlight. But I'd rather spend my money on abortion awareness than add one more cent or one more second of my time wasting it on a series of films that so obviously cares not for the values or dignity of the human race.

Resurrection Monday

I am currently grieving.

Sorry to put a downer on you on a Monday (it's bad enough it is Monday, right?), but I'm convicted enough in what I am about to convey that it needs to be said. I am grieving for my brother, whom I most recently lost, though I am still grieving for my father and other brother as well. I feel our grieving never fully goes away if we continue to miss those whom we have lost.

On September 17th, 2015 at 6pm, my brother went cycling with a group of friends as was their custom to go out on a Thursday evening ride. He and another rider never came home. I am not going to go into details, or whose fault it was (it wasn't the rider's or the driver's; it was just unfortunate circumstances), because it is not the point of this post and it is still too painful to recount. The point is he was taken from my life and I miss him dearly.

But I can bring him back.

Well, technically, I can't actually bring him back. No black magic, no incantations, and definitely no flying around the world backwards to turn back time (suck it, Superman). But I'm a writer. I am told I am a good one too. So I've decided to include aspects of my brothers and my father in personalities of the characters I create and immortalize in the pages I write, just as they live in the memories in my heart.

One character can be sarcastic with the driest humor this side of the Atlantic with a love for hiking. Another character can have a brilliant affinity for wordplay and a superior bowler. And another character could have a green thumb with a wild heart. These are all various abilities or characteristics of those whom I lost. And this list goes on, and is abundantly complex in its amazing array of the human condition.

By writing those characteristics into the people I create, I can keep my brothers and father alive. Perhaps indefinitely. In a sense, then, I can, indeed, bring them back. I can talk with them through dialog. Look at them again in the scenes I conceive. Play with them as I weave a plot around who they are and what they want. If I continue to add them to my stories, my hope is I won't miss them so much. And maybe it won't hurt as much when I have no one to lean on for brotherly or fatherly advice.

So the next time you read one of my best-selling, award-winning stories (I can dream, can't I?), your favorite characters may just share some qualities of some of my family. I hope you like them. They were special guys. Damn, I miss them.

1950's Sci-Fi and Shakespeare

Yes, it's true. Some science fiction aficionados probably already know this. When one thinks of 1950's sci-fi, some images immediately come to mind: giant ants, giant mantises, giant grasshoppers, and, believe it or not, a giant woman. Bad make-up, bad dialog, bad comedy, and bad acting (with few exceptions), were the pillars of science fiction from this era and, admittedly, I loved it.

The producers got this gorilla costume at a discount - it was missing the head.

So what does giant, radioactive insects have to do with a 15th century playwright? Nothing. Well, almost nothing. There is one movie from the 50's, however, that stands out from the crowd and is actually a remake of a famous Shakespearean tragedy. The film is Forbidden Planet. The play is The Tempest.

First, let's look at some of the finer points of the movie:

• A very young, Leslie Nielson as the captain. I kept waiting for a joke every time he spoke.
• A Richard Anderson appearance as the doctor, who went on to play Oscar Goldman from The Six Million Dollar Man.You can see his real hair in this movie.
• Earl Holloman plays a goofy cook. He goes on to be a regular on Police Woman, where he plays a goofy cop.
• Special effects by Disney. I was reminded of Fantasia.
• Robbie the Robot. Ok, it was a guy in a bubbly suit, but he was still cool.
• It may have been an early influence to Star Trek - a military navy organization traveling through space right down to using inertial dampeners for slowing down from light speed.

The robot is portrayed as the bad guy here. Sorry, Robbie.

Some story elements of Forbidden Planet are as such: a man and daughter are marooned on an uninhabited planet where the man has powers he gained from being on the planet facilitated by an extinct, advanced alien race. The man also has a robot who does his bidding and is plagued by a mysterious invisible killer "force."

Wow. Sounds amazingly original. Before you petition Hollywood to remake this classic, let's take a look at The Tempest.

Some story elements from The Tempest are thus: a man and daughter are marooned on an uninhabited island where the man has powers he gained from being on the island facilitated by a deceased sorceress. The man also has a slave who does his bidding and is plagued by a mysterious killer.

Hmm... sounds familiar. Not that Hollywood would shy away from reusing (stealing) ideas.

All in all, the movie is considered a classic and is well worth the time to watch.. And there's even a giant in it!

Will Comic Books Actually Rot Your Brain?

The short answer? Hardly.

Everyone is essentially from one of two camps: either you feel comic books are trashy tripe filled with simplistic, overly-muscled super heroes that only appeal to children, o r you feel that comic books are an under-rated, untapped creative medium that puts drama, art, and writing into one enthralling package which takes graphics arts to a whole new level. I am of the second camp. I have been reading and collecting comic books since I was 16. Even then I could tell the writers of the day - Chris Claremont, Alan Moore, Frank Miller, Neil Gaiman - were all either using comics as a vehicle for voicing their opinions on social strife or they were pushing the medium into the realm of literature and high art.

In fact, comics saved my life.

At 16, I was small for my age. I was the quintessential 100-pound weakling who was socially-awkward and smarter than most others in my school. This trifecta made me an easy target for bullying. Coupled with the overwhelming black cloud of depression that ran deep in my family, it's no stretch to imagine that I was suicidal at several low points in my life. Then I discovered comic books.

Yes, I've certainly heard of the popular heroes - Spider-Man, Superman, Batman - but it wasn't until I picked up an issue of The Uncanny X-Men where my eyes were truly opened to the power and the beauty of modern comic books. I honestly had not heard of the X-Men in 1986. Chris Claremont's treatment of these particular heroes was fresh and new to me, never having been exposed to comics that went beyond the good vs. bad battle royale. Here was an author who took the fear of mutants in the Marvel Universe and paralleled that with the racism, bigotry, and social unrest of our time. So, being a social outcast myself, I really took to the X-Men and identified with them. They became my friends, my brethren.

I could have a horrible week being cut down by the finest athletes our public school system can produce, but I could always rely upon and look forward to that Saturday when I get to go to my favorite comic shop and pick up the latest treasures of fantasy and science fiction. Yes, they were an escape for me. And one could argue that I wasted a lot of money and a lot of time with this "trash," but ask yourself, "Does the cost of my comic books surpass the cost of my funeral? Does the time spent 'wasting it away' reading comic books outweigh the time spent by my family and friends in mourning for my loss?" No, comic books provided a treasure that far exceeded all the tea in China: they gave me hope.

They also gave me a sense of direction and purpose. Inspired by the hope and excitement comics gave me, I went on to pursue a career in art with the ambition that, one day, I, too, can give some 100 pound weakling the hope he needs to continue on in life and find a way to survive the war zone we call high school. I have not given up that hope. And I grew. Now over six feet tall and close to double my weight at 16, I am still socially awkward. But that's okay. And though I may not be the artist I intended to be, I am becoming the writer I intend to be. And if I can provide that escape, though temporary, for anyone in need of it, I will gladly keep writing until my last breath.

Thank you: Chris Claremont, John Byrne, John Romita Jr., Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Frank Miller, Neil Adams, Barry Windsor-Smith, Jim Shooter, Al Milgrom, Mike Zeck, Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, Arthur Adams, Brian Bolland, Dick Giordano, and hundreds others in the comic industry who toil away in their passions and ignore the nay-sayers that they work in an industry that churns out nothing but "trashy tripe." Thank you, a million times thank you. You saved my life.