Thirteen Again

When I was thir­teen years old, I stayed up late to watch Star Trek. This was 1986 (yeah, the math says I’m sort of old). The local cable affil­i­ate aired the adven­tures of Kirk and Spock from 11 to 12 every night. God bless them.

I must admit I was pret­ty much friend­less fol­low­ing the jar­ring fam­i­ly move from Con­necti­cut to Geor­gia. It would be months before I made friends in school and in my neigh­bor­hood, and by the time I man­aged that, my habits were estab­lished. The end of each day found me mes­mer­ized by a vision of an opti­mistic human future.

Abram’s vision isn’t real­ly espe­cial­ly sim­i­lar to Roddenberry’s. And that’s okay. Because the new movie is damned enter­tain­ing, and for a cou­ple hours last night, I was a kid again.

P.S. Am I the only one deeply amused by the jux­ta­po­si­tion of today’s Lucas­film cam­pus and tomorrow’s Starfleet Acad­e­my?

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