Found His Mittens

I know I try to keep this blog to facts only.  Facts about my projects, facts about my trips, pictures of my cat, boring boring facts.  It’s far safer that way for everyone.

But after watching yet another season finale of Doctor Who, I find myself wanting to write down some thoughts about a recurring dream/image from my childhood.  I have never spoken about this before.  I have never written it down before, either, I don’t think.  Or did I already do this before?  Maybe I did write it down before.

It’s well known how hard dreams are to remember.  Once you wake up, unless you grab that dream really hard, it’s gone forever.  And even when you do hold onto that dream, it still disappears awfully quick unless you repeat it over and over to yourself or someone else. Or write it down.

When I was a very little girl, I took it for granted that a very large, muscular man was heading towards me in time.  And that when I got a little older, our paths would cross.  He would need me, he ALREADY needed me, but I was too little yet.  One day I would be big enough to help save him, and he would save everyone.   He would be very weak and sick and have a limp and then get better with my help.  I know I started to dream about this man at a very young age.  I wish I knew how I started.  Was it an actual dream?  Did I hear about something in a book?  A waking dream?  A made up story?  I’ll never know.  I thought about him while playing in my garage.  I thought about him while walking down the street.  I thought about him when I was in my room.  I thought about him as I fell asleep at night.  It was a very powerful, emotional thing, thinking about this man coming towards me, and I would sit very still and feel such a deep thrilling excitement.  So impatient for the day when I would be older  and stronger and wiser and deeper, and would help him because he needed the help so desperately.  I remember learning about the Greek gods/goddesses for the first time at around age 10 and really thinking that Prometheus might be the man in my dreams. A good man, more than a man, who gave mankind fire and then got punished for it. I suppose I made this image much more dramatic when I became a preteen.  Makes it so hard to see the original memories underneath  Maybe there were no original memories to start with.

I think most people have a rude awakening one day when they are all grown up  and realize that they can’t do everything they wanted to as a kid.  They can’t even do one thing on that list.   My rude awakening was realizing that I was all grown up, but not good enough, and this man was never coming, and we were never going to save the world together.  Instead I would have a rather humdrum, boring life, just like everyone else.  Bummer.  I was not special after all.

I can’t help but notice that Doctor Who fits my image of this man better than anyone else, much better than Prometheus.  Sure he’s not really a large, muscled man, but any man looks large to a six year old.  This particular finale reaaaally fit my memories well.  Not to mention his ordinary companions, who seem to end up saving the world and not being so ordinary after all.

If Doctor Who is really out there, if you are the man of my dreams, don’t look for me.  I am definitely not companion quality anymore.