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There's Nothing Between The Static

Sometimes I think about the times when I was a kid and I had to climb the large antenna stand attached to the house I grew up in. I'd ascend to the roof, tripping up the small pegs before finally reaching with one hand–clinging to life with the other–gently trying to twist and turn the antenna until my father would yell from the open window that the channels were back.

We didn't have cable or satellite or internet TV until I was 15 maybe. I was both the antenna repair man and the TV remote (perhaps some of you remember this in your life?) when no one else felt like getting up to change the channel.

Sometimes I would stare at the static, glimpsing the faulty images that would try to realign before convincing myself that whatever was on TV, wasn't actually worth watching.

Que imagination.

There's nothing between the static. So I imagine. I enter worlds with my matchbox cars and plastic figures until the carpet and walls of my home become a distant memory. I etch failed world takeovers and fantastic quips between heroes until my mother yells it is time for dinner.

I gently set the world down. Walking away from creation. The static humming ever so slightly in the background as reality returns building walls, carpeting floors, and filling my memory with a sullen sadness.

It's almost the holidays.

My kids now don't worry about static. They build their own worlds through digital sandboxes, but every once in awhile they pull out plastic figures, building blocks, and we pretend the world has faded while we create something new in its place.

They bring new memories that are not troubled like mine. In this moment, I am happy.

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