Unlike almost every other childhood fan interest, “Star Trek” was mine alone. Not exactly mine alone because a family friend was a Trekkie and took me to see the movies starting with… 3? Definitely 4, but maybe 3. My parents had no interest–I had to beg my mom to marathon the series after 6 came out on video and she did. I think my sister joined us. The best part, of course, was my mom ended up liking them more than she thought she would. My best friend wasn’t interested in “Trek,” even though his family was big “Next Generation” fans. I wasn’t a TNG fan. I loved the aged crew of the Enterprise in the movies, contending not just with intergalactic strife but also the human realities of aging. I couldn’t put it into words back then. I was, you know, twelve. I willed myself to be a “Star Trek” fan and reaped the rewards. It wasn’t easy. No one in high school thought it was cool to read Star Trek novels. Not even the TNG fans. And DS9 was never popular with my peers either. Last summer, the wife and I watched the entire original series, which has a lot of phenomenal episodes. There’s a magic to “Star Trek,” but not a sci-fi magic. If anything, it’s closest to the magic in a Western. It’s about the humanity in the experiencing of the unknown, without knowledgable expectation of that unknown, but also without fear of that unknown. Or maybe I just like the cardboard sets. One of the saddest moments I had as an adult was realizing “Star Trek” is never happening. As a species, we’re not going to make it there. It’s not a question of me living to see it, it’s just the hard reality people don’t want to work together to make a good dream come true for everyone. I wonder what kind of crossover there is between “Star Trek” fans and Muppet fans. Both properties preach the same ideals to some extent.