If you don’t know me, or have ever spoken to me for an extended period of time – you may not know that I was sort of raised by television. This means I’ve build my relationships with people is strange ways and fall back on my knowledge of back catalogue of horrible television that only people vaguely remember. This leads me to a short conversation about Star Trek.

But this isn’t just any Star Trek. This is The Next Generation. The most perfectly quirky, enchanting, technological, and well written sci-fi series ever created. Between Data’s busy jaw, Riker’s smug sexuality, and Wesley Crusher being one of the chosen extra brilliant super humans  – it’s hard to turn away. This series pushed the forth wall in clever and new ways and eases tensions in the story line.

There are, of course, the cheesy and obvious story lines or overtly corny tags. But the show’s brilliance pushed through.

But part of my love for the show comes from somewhere else. I can’t place where we lived at the time – Warrenville? Might have been before that even. Let me start this story by saying that my mother worked full time in retail. For those without parents doing this job, it forces the person to pull shit hours, rarely home for dinner or too tired to be awake for breakfast. It’s not like a parent with an office job where they come home for dinner in a bad mood – you eat cereal alone in a dimly lit kitchen or in front of the TV. I’m not saying my mother was never there, but it was an increasingly rare occasion as I grew older.

That said – TNG was time that we could spend together. Watching the show again is like I’m rolling back the clock to where I sit with my back against the couch my mother popped into. Time with the TV is time we’d spend together, and this prime was during the seven seasons.

Yes, the show is great – impeccable even – but to me it’s a bit more. Thanks for the memories Star Trek.

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Posted on

July 9th, 2011