The origin of Tales
A journey through memory and invention
Within a house of wonder, a sanctuary where dreams and reality danced together, two extraordinary worlds merged: the limitless imagination of the inventor and the captivating magic of cinematic spectacle. This was the home of a young child, whose childhood was a collage woven from the threads of his parents‘ unique talents.
My mother, a visionary in innovation and creativity, was the brain behind the patented ‘The Talking Book’, a marvel of 1961 that brought stories to life in a way that seemed almost magical. My father, with the charisma of a promoter and producer, had a different kind of magic. His motion picture film distribution company was a gateway to other worlds, other stories. He had well over 2500 real film movies in his company and another 1000 films at our house. In our theater room, reels of film flickered to life, casting shadows and tales across the walls, enchanting the kids like a modern-day fireside storytelling session.
But the heart of our home was the library. Over 1100 books stood as silent, yet powerful sentinels of knowledge and imagination. Here, at the tender age of seven, I met Homer’s epic heroes, sailing through the pages of ‘The Iliad’ and ‘The Odyssey’, big book versions that seemed as vast and deep as the seas the Greek heroes traversed.
School became my stage for showcasing my burgeoning talents. I was awarded two gold keys for fiction in elementary school, my stories serving as portals to new, vibrant worlds, all crafted with the innocence and insight typical of an eight or nine-year-old. But it wasn’t just the arts that captivated me. Science, especially the living world, called to me with its intricate patterns and hidden wisdom. I saw intelligence in the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, in the scurry of a squirrel; the entire ecosystem was a puzzle I yearned to understand.
Amid this mosaic of creativity and knowledge, one memory stands out, marked by the sharp sting of embarrassment yet illuminated by visionary foresight. In fourth grade, during a seemingly mundane discussion about canned food, I, driven by an early concern for the environment, asked a simple yet profound question, “Why don’t we use the cans over again?” My teacher, Mr. McMahon, with a response both dismissive and short-sighted (‘Well, when tin cans are that valuable you will be giving them to your girlfriend.’) failed to recognize the intuition in my question. His words, intended to belittle, instead sowed the seeds of resilience and determination.
Wandering thoughts of children manifest as the inventions and creations of adults.
I now take all my life experiences and love of stories, mixed with in-depth scientific knowledge to create fantastical stories, that could become reality. Like flying to the moon, but the moon is too low. Let’s go for the distant stars.
