[This post is a parody of a infamous blog post from 2010, which I discuss here.]
My son is a Trekkie.
Or he’s not. I don’t care. He is still my son. And he is only a proto-adult from an overly emotional humanoid race. And I am his mother, a Trekkie. If you have a problem with anything mentioned above, I don’t want to know you.
Here are the facts that lead up to my rant:
1. My son has loved Star Trek since developing the ability and attention span to sit still long enough to watch it in exchange for receiving maternal affection.
2. Halloween is a holiday and its main focus is wearing a costume.
3. An excuse to wear a costume in public is a temptation no Trekkie can refuse.
4. I'm a Trekkie.
5. For me Star Trek isn't just a tv show. It's a way of life.
6. I want my son to be a Trekkie when he grows up.
A few weeks before Halloween, my son decided to be Odo from Star Trek Deep Space 9. I was hesitant to make the purchase. Not because Odo is an obscure character from the most-under appreciated Star Trek series, but because children have a tendency to change their minds. They're so illogical.
After requesting a couple of more times, I said sure and placed his costume order. He flipped out when it arrived. It was perfect. As Halloween approached, he hemmed and hawed. After some discussion he admitted to being afraid people would laugh at him. I pointed out that some people would because it is a cute and clever costume. He insisted their laughter would be of the ‘making fun’ kind. I blew it off. Seriously, part of being a Trekkie is learning to tune out society's derision. Plus he'd worn a Borg costume last year. He'd scored quite a haul, candy-wise and he looked adorable:
The big day arrived. We got dressed up and drove to the school. My son didn't want to get out of the car. This is understandable since he's homeschooled, but I insisted he accompany me for a procession through the halls. A procession of two. Two AWESOME members of the Trek Nation.
I was wearing this, by the way:
That’s where things went wrong. Upon entering the building two mothers went wide-eyed and made faces as if they were Vulcans getting a whiff of Archer's beagle Porthos.
I realized that my son was seeing the same thing. So I said, “Doesn’t he look great?”
Mom A said in disgust, “Did he ask to be that?! He looks like one of those Big Banger guys from TV."
Mom B just stood there -- it was like the Eymorgs had stolen her brain to power their planet's super computer.
Mom C approached and said "Ohmigod, your little...erm...gu...buh -- child is very cute. That costume is so original. It threw me for a minute, but then I caught the reference. What do you think of the newest Doctor? I still miss David Tennant."
To which I calmly replied that I couldn’t imagine what she was talking about.
"David Tennant. The tenth Doctor. From Doctor Who." she said obviously puzzled. "Your son is dressed like a Sontaran, right?"
At this point Mom A spoke up, "That's not a Sontaran costume. He's Sheldon. No. Wait. Now I get it: he's one of those Spock fellows. From the show with Denny Crane's actor."
"Yes. Star...ummm…not Wars that's the one with Ewan MacGregor. It's the other one Star...TREK! Star Trek -- that's the name!" said Mom B. "My husband and I are considering getting our daughters interested in Star Trek. What with all the talk about early sexualization of young girls, it seems like a great way to ensure they keep their virginity until they go to university. If not longer."
Mom A nodded in agreement and was about to speak up when Mom C interrupted. "Star Trek, seriously? I guess it's okay, but I prefer Doctor Who. David Tennant is so dreamy. Look he's the wallpaper on my iphone." She held it up for our appraisal.
"Rawr!" said Mom B, "I'd totally let him touch my boob. Seriously. And I don't even let my husband touch them anymore. Stupid on-demand breastfeeding has ruined them FOREVER."
Mom A spoke up, "Oh, please. David Tennant is fine and even Matt Smith has his charms. But you know what's a total sausage-fest? Battlestar Galactica. Damn. I wish that show was still being produced. I'd sell my first born for five minutes alone with Tahmoh Penikett."
"I can't decide if Starbuck is a good role model for young feminists, or not? What do you think?" pondered Mom B.
And on they went.
I added nothing to the conversation. How dare they not recognize that:
a. my son looked AMAZING as Odo, and
b. my fandom is way better than their fandoms.
Why weren't they talking about my son's Odo costume? The only thing worse than people mocking or bullying my kid for being a Trekkie, is people ignoring my fandom. And my kid. My son was Odo, DAMNIT. FROM STAR TREK! Who cares about those other shows? Not me. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations my ass.
My response to this: Star Trek is the best sci-fi franchise EVER. And I want my son to feel free to embrace the themes and fashions of Gene Roddenberry's creation. I understand that someday my son will grow up and could turn his back on Trek fandom. He may favour Battlestar Galactica. He may call himself a Browncoat. He may even fancy Matt Smith. My job as his mother is not to stifle the man that he will be, but to help him along his way. Mine is not to dictate what is ‘normal’ for our species and what is not, but to help him become a good person who respects the Prime Directive. A good person who loves his mother more than any other woman and who participates in cosplay whenever possible.
And my little man worked that costume like no other. He rocked that polyester one piece jumpsuit, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.