I grew up watching Star Trek. It was one of those rare things that both my parents liked. This fact made it remarkable since my parents were divorced and clearly had nothing in common. The conflict between Spock’s human side and his Vulcan side fascinated me. In hindsight, I’d say I saw my family in those terms. My father was Human. My mother was Vulcan. How the hell did they ever fall in love?
I lived with my dad. He never told me what I should like. Unicorns? Great! Books? Wonderful! Dancing? Awesome! Sci-fi? Terrific! I watched Space: 1999, Battlestar Galatica, Buck Rodgers in the 25th Century, Lost in Space, Doctor Who, and Star Trek. In 7th grade, I attempted to write my first novel. It was a sci-fi adventure (fortunately lost to a Florida landfill).
I loved everyone on the show, but I especially loved Spock’s raised eyebrow and Vulcan nerve pinch. The crew would have been lost without him. They would have been lost with each other. And they weren’t blood family. They were together by choice to go out and learn about the universe. They weren’t supposed to be conquering the universe or changing. Just learning, and the universe was the better for it. At least, as far as my young self could see.
I can’t remember when I realized that girls weren’t really supposed to like science fiction. We could like fantasy (I did!), but be a Trekkie? That was for boys. Loser boys. Everyone knew that. Right?
I was an unholy mess of a girl. Too tall. Too skinny. Too weird. An only child living with her single dad. I got teased for my shoes, for the flag on my bike, for the ruler I took to art class, and for using “big words”. I didn’t want to be teased, but I seemed incapable of not doing things that made me weird. I made a book cover out of a discarded metal mesh air filter.
I wore scarves. Scarves my grandmother made. No one wore scarves back then. None of the cool kids liked sci-fi. But at some point, I got tired of not fitting in, of never having dates, of so often being treated as a joke. I gave away a Star Trek book I’d bought. It had pictures of the cast and stories about the Star Trek universe. I was a girl, after all. I wasn’t supposed to have books about Star Trek, right? Now, of course, I wish I’d kept it. I wish I’d been better at being me.
But in Star Trek, everyone was accepted. You could be anyone. You could be smart with pointy ears and be the first in command! Star Trek was a new world. I figured if I could wait, I could live in that world, too. It was out there in my future.
Not the space ships and the aliens, but ability to be oneself and make a difference in the world, in the universe.
Many other places have written wonderful obituaries and tributes for Leonard Nimoy. I can’t tell you anything about his life that you can’t read elsewhere. But he meant a lot to me. When the adults in my world weren’t paying attention to anything going on in my life, Spock and the crew of Enterprise showed me another way to live, to make peace, to think, and to be open to strange new worlds.
The world is a better place for having Leonard Nimoy, actor, direct, writer, poet, photographer, and all-around amazing human. I’ll miss knowing he’s in the world.
And here’s a favorite moment of mine–Uhura and Spock entertain.
Live long and prosper.
The Obituarist's Diary 
Reblogged this on Marta Pelrine-Bacon and commented:
for Spock
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So much of what you said jibes with my own experience. I watched the moon landing, excited but not really understanding until a year or two later. I watched Star Trek and felt the incredible pull of mysterious adventure, of wanting to go into space, of wanting to encounter the unknown. I loved science, but gradually got pushed away from it for being a girl. But when I played Star Trek with my friend Charles during recess at Catholic school, I had to be Spock, who knew what it was like to be logical in an irrational environment.
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