Well, prepare for what will perhaps be a surprisingly somber little tale, but here goes nothing.
My mother was a crack addict. I mean that in the nicest and most sincere of ways, for there are certainly variations of the term that either come off all the more harshly or sugarcoat the truth. I won't do either. My mother... was a crack addict.
I never met my father until a little over a year ago, when he quite literally found me via facebook. Growing up, people told me all these variations on the tale, but none seemed to be the reality of the matter that I eventually learned at twenty-one years of age. So that's depressing, too.
Growing up... yes, growing up, my grandmother raised me. She was a remarkable woman of whom I could spend hours citing positive qualities. In the 1960's, she took part in civil rights rallies and fell in love with a little show called Star Trek, adamantly believing in Gene Roddenberry's vision of a brighter future. When my mother was but a baby, she would watch the episodes of that series as they debuted, enthusiastically soaking in the ahead-of-their-time messages and discussing the implications of various fan-favorite episodes with her friends at all those rallies. (Fun fact: she learned at some point in the 80's that her name was listed in the White House as someone to be 'watched', which apparently happened to a bunch of people at these events during the 60's.)
My grandmother was hit by a van while crossing the street in New York City back in '85, two years before I was born. She had just obtained her Master's in Fine Arts after going to college for the first time at 37. She was also engaged to the son of a Japanese man who assisted in the development of Linotype. This is pretty heavy stuff. Unfortunately, the accident left her a cripple, caused all sorts of emotional problems and her life kind of slowly fell apart from there. But despite the immense pain and agony she endured, she refused to give up entirely. No, instead she took me in after my first couple of years with my unstable mother proved... dangerous, and when she did so, she happened to be watching a new show at the time called Star Trek: The Next Generation. You may have heard of it; it had a British guy playing a French guy on an American television show or something.
My grandmother told me countless times as we would sit by the television and watch TNG that there was a big reason she kept watching, even after the less-than-stellar first season of the new show. I still remember at least the major gist of those words, spoken to me sometime in the early 90's when I was so young, so impressionable. "Star Trek is the sci-fi embodiment of so many things I believe in, and so many things I've fought for. Equality for all and a reason to persevere. To make that future possible for mankind."
Let me tell you something. When you're five or six years old, and you're already watching Trek because you think Data is cool, Geordi's VISOR is hip and happening, and the space battles are outrageously entertaining, and then your guardian, your caretaker, sits you down and tells you all this philosophical stuff that reminds you of that bald captain guy's nifty-sounding monologues... it sticks with you. It really sticks with you.
We watched DS9 and Voyager together, and then Enterprise after that. Periodically my grandmother would stop watching Voyager for a while, and I'm still to this day not entirely sure why. I think some of the cast didn't do it for her. But she would still watch it most of the time. And she owned the first nine films on VHS, and eventually when I was working I bought a PS2 and we started collecting them on DVD. We even went to the theaters together to see First Contact through Nemesis.
My grandmother passed away on April 5th, 2006. She had suffered a long and grueling battle with cancer, not to mention the ceaseless pain and emotional distress brought on from her injuries twenty-one years ago. April 5th is also my mother's birthday, and when news of her mother's death reached her, it deeply affected her and has changed her for the better. We're much closer now than we ever were, and in that way, my grandmother, civil rights activist and avid Star Trek fan, gave me yet another gift in passing.
April 5th is also First Contact Day in Trekkian lore. For a woman who devoted so much of her life to the very fabric of hope, I could think of no better day for her to go forth into the next realm, whatever that may be.
Why do I like Star Trek so much? Well, there are other reasons, but the one I find myself bringing up most often is simple: like my grandmother before me, I believe in what it stands for and it gives me a wellspring of faith that maybe someday, just maybe, we'll put the more blatant darkness behind us in order to unite toward a common, positive goal.
And the space battles are totally outrageous, too.