I was an odd little kid. I was quiet and nerdy. I read constantly, made condominiums for my little ponies out of refrigerator boxes and wrote comic books about my cat. My greatest obsession was those poorly-dubbed cartoon imports that aired every weekday. Force Five. Grandizer. Starblazers. G-force. They were anime serials dumbed down for kids, interspaced with ads for Mr. Big Toyland, on Moody Street in Waltham , a seemingly golden palace full of die-cast toys; robots and monsters and anything a little kid might dream and drool over.
I adored all these shows, but my favorite had to be Voltron, a fairy-tale like story featuring a princess and a witch and robot lions (robot lions!) that formed an unbeatable giant robot. I would race home from school each day to watch this particular show, but if any one in my family came into the room I would rush to shut the TV off. For some reason, I was certain that Voltron was a boy show, and therefore I should not be watching it, and I definitely could not admit to liking it, or I would be teased mercilessly.
That Christmas I carefully wrote out my list to Santa. I was nine, maybe even ten at the time, probably too old to believe in Santa. I didn’t think we had a lot of money for presents that year, so if I wanted anything truly special, Santa was the guy to ask. I wrote a bunch of nonsense at the top of the list, but at the bottom, in big bold letters, I put to paper my own true wish, Voltron, my own personal Red Ryder BB Gun.
Before I handed the letter over to my mother, I panicked. I was sure I’d be scolded for wanting a giant robot instead of a Pound Puppy or Strawberry Shortcake. I’d been laughed at for wanting to play Star Wars with the boys at a classmate’s birthday party. I went to edit my letter, carefully cutting out the last line with my safety scissors before handing it over. I didn’t think I had sabotaged my Christmas dreams though, as Santa was all knowing and certainly knew what I really wanted.
Christmas day came and went. I can’t remember what I got that year. It could have been a pound puppy. It might have been strawberry shortcake. It certainly wasn’t a shape-shifting robot. Later that year, I found out the truth about Santa, and I wasn’t really surprised.
September 21st, 2008. Todd and I celebrated our sixth anniversary. We dropped the kids off with the in-laws and went to a movie. I haven’t been to the movies at all this year so just sitting in a dark theatre, without kids screaming for my attention, for almost two hours, was heaven. I didn’t expect a gift. Truthfully, I didn’t want a gift because that would mean I’d have to reciprocate, and money is a little tight right now.
So imagine my surprise when a package arrives the next day and this is in it:
Defender of the Universe
