Why is it that most awesome television shows, I come into midway through their run (like Smallville) or long after they have stopped airing (such as Buffy)? I suppose the good thing about it is me finding the shows at all, so I shouldn’t complain… but on occasion I think how much fun it would have been to be “in on” a fandom. (Maybe that’s why I try so many new shows out — Fringe is pretty incredible if like me you are into wacky sci-fi, Sanctuary is my addiction, and I even like Dollhouse, sexual shenanigans notwithstanding.)
One series I would have liked to have seen along with the rest of the world is Roswell. I know, it sounds lame — a show about aliens? really?? And yes, the pilot was so cheesy I almost shut it off, but within two or three episodes was glad I stuck around. The show doesn’t shy away from dealing with serious teen topics (like physical abuse, peer pressure, and pregnancy scares) but it’s really mostly about the characters. You have the sweet, mild-mannered Max, the adorable Liz, the frosty and overly-worried Isabel, the free-spirited Maria, and the tortured Michael. “Normal” kids (well, apart from the fact that their DNA is green, and whenever they kiss, stars literally explode overhead) that we can all identify with.
Or rather… that most people can identify with. I don’t, really. I never went to high school — something for which I thank God daily. But I did go through that same awkward stage where you aren’t sure if you want to be noticed or not, or want to fly under the radar, where every moment of every day is filled with drama, and you almost wish you didn’t exist. People sometimes pity me for having been home schooled, but really, what did I miss out on? Not being in the popular crowd? Being in the popular crowd? Competing for everything from boys to who has the best hairstyle? The stress of constant exams, of looking perfect all the time? Of crying in the bathroom because someone insulted my shoes or I had a zit? No thanks. I’ll pass.
Occasionally, someone will say they’d like to be seventeen again. Really? Most kids hate being seventeen. Old enough to know better but not old enough to see an R-rated movie. Still in school, still living at home, still abiding by parental rules. In a constant state of angst.
I don’t really look back on the past. I’m not nostalgic. I think focusing too much on the past, or the future and what “might happen,” is wasting the time we are given — the moment we are in. God doesn’t ask us to obsess about the past. He doesn’t want us “looking forward” too far either. That’s why all we know is the here and now. We cannot look into the future, and should not lament the past. It’s said and done. There’s no way to change it, or go back — and you wouldn’t want to. So maybe I shouldn’t mourn not being a part of the fandom as it unfolded. I can enjoy the freedom of watching four episodes a night rather than waiting an entire month to see them all.
One thing I find disturbing… I was about the age of the characters when it aired. It’s not mathematics (who me? hah! history yes, math no!) so much as the fact that every pop song that makes an appearance, I know by heart. What can I say? I wasn’t into little green men when I was seventeen, but I was into Celine Dion!