Hoover, I don’t even know where to begin.
No, really. I’ve been working on what to say to you for days. I wrote half a post to you a few days ago and I had to delete it because it didn’t do justice to any of my feelings. I’m feeling so many feelings and they’re all good, every single one of them, and I just don’t know what to do with that.
I’ve been listening to music I was into in high school. Like the Nine Days album “The Madding Crowd” and SR-71’s “Now You See Inside.” Actually those both came out before I was in high school but I didn’t get into them until then, whatever, this information is unimportant. What I’m saying is that I’m listening to music from high school because I feel like I did senior year. Senior year of high school had this sense of infinity. There was a feeling that anything was possible. And everyone was close and everyone was hopeful and there was this overwhelming, bursting feeling that the world could be perfect, that we could make it so.
I feel just like that right now, my darling tiny giant.
Do you remember the time you were helping me write Blink? I was working on the scene where Ari and Dodge bicker about Rachel and you thought Dodge should win the argument by just vomiting all over Ari because that’s how you win things, and I told you that I heard your note, I just wasn’t sure it was the way the scene should end. Ringing a bell?
Well, little man, the CW picked up our pilot last week, and no, I can’t believe it either. It’s bananapants, dude. You’re not supposed to have your crazy reach dreams happen, not when you’re 23 anyway, because you’re still young and naive enough to believe this means the world could be perfect, and that would blow the world’s tough guy cover. But, kid, getting to bring these characters and this story to life was my crazy reach dream. It’s been my crazy reach dream for almost two years, when I had the idea for the show after I read an article about brain injuries and vegetative states and how rarely, but sometimes, people just come out of them, and science can’t always explain why. There was a time when I wanted to drop out of film school to study neuroscience; I’m pretty sure this is better.
Because, Drools, we’re making my pilot and I’m living the dream. I feel like I’ve somehow hoodwinked life into showing me what it can do. And it’s pretty rad, kid. That’s why today, right now, I feel like anything is possible, and the world could be perfect, we could make it so.
You’re waiting for me to stop talking about myself and give you your piece of advice already, aren’t you? COOL YOUR JETS, BRO. This one’s a long play.
You get that I’m saying I’ve never been happier than I am right now. But the truth is, the story for Blink came out of the darkest, most broken part of me. This story’s about a girl who misses her dad, who’s still her best friend even though he’s in a coma, and all she wants in the world is for him to wake up and come back to her. And what she doesn’t know, but we do, is that he’s still in there, he’s alive and he loves her and he’s as desperate as she is that he open his eyes. But most importantly, we know, or at least we hope, that one day she’ll get her dad back.
I will never get my dad back. If I could I would give up everything, this dream life I’ve just described to you, and go back to July 6, 2007, sometime in the early afternoon, and this time things would go differently and I would still have my dad. And maybe I would never move to LA, maybe I would never make it as a writer, maybe I’d have to marry rich to support myself (his worst fear for me), maybe I’d disappoint him (my worst fear for me), but it wouldn’t matter because when I rewatched a Katharine Hepburn movie that he and I once watched together, I could call him and talk about it, and that would mean my life was whole.
Now you’re confused, because I told you at the beginning of this post that all the feelings I am feeling were good ones and this doesn’t sound like a good one, am I right?
Chubs, I want to talk to you about glow sticks. I know you know what they are because I made sure we had them to get wild on your first New Year’s Eve.
Do you know how you get glow sticks to glow? You break them. You break them and then they glow where they’ve been broken.
Hoover, there will be things in your life that break you. If I could, I would swaddle you so tightly in bubble wrap that nothing could ever get to you, I mean I’d outdo your dad as the swaddling champ because I’d wrap the invisible parts of you too, your heart and your mind and your spirit, you’d be so safe in this monstrous amount of bubbling that I could drop you out of a plane and you would be FINE. (I would never drop you out of a plane.) But there isn’t enough bubble wrap in the world for that, and so we just have to calmly accept that at some point in your life, there will be some breaks.
But what I want you to know is that you don’t have to stay all dark and emo forever about things that happen to you. You can make your breaks glow. I have made it my job, literally, to write stories about how I feel about my dad, to remember things that he and I did, to get to talk about him to everyone I meet. I can’t have my dad back, but I can share pieces of him, versions of him, with the world. And that makes me very, very happy. And even though I haven’t had my dad for five and a half years, the connection I feel to him is still so strong that it inspires me to write and makes it possible for me to live the dream.
And I know that would make him very, very happy.
Which is why I can tell you that I am feeling so many feelings right now, and all of them are good.
I know that despite my most manipulative attempts (you ain’t seen nothing yet, kid), you might not grow up to be a writer. I might not even get my way and get you in the arts at all, for all I know you’re going to be a gym teacher or an astronaut. But no matter what you do or who you become, I want you to know that you have the ability to turn pain into strength and despair into inspiration. It won’t necessarily seem like it, when the time for it comes, but should life ever be foolish enough to try to break you, I need you to understand that you can glow.
Throw up a little right now if you understand. I’ll wait.
Okay, so: I know your attention span is like a third as long as this post, if I’m rounding up, but I want one final moment of your time. I’d like you to take a moment — armed with this glow talk and all the other things I’ve told you here — to bask naively with me in the impossible and wonderful notion that the world could be perfect, that we could make it so.
Sounds pretty great, right?
Now get thee and thy baby muffin top to the West Coast to join this Blink production team, okay? We have snacks that are even better than breast milk, I promise.