Trevor Romain

Dear person who sat behind me on a plane the other day and spoke very loudly about how your son lives in his own head.

How, when asked why he spends hours lost in his own thoughts he replied, “Because it’s much more pleasant in here than out there with you guys.”

How you thought he might be backward in some way.  Backward? Oh my goodness. That word went out in the sixties.  And how all the silly Manga and cartoons were childish distractions that were setting him back.

How you wished, rather loudly, that he would play football or another physical sport to help him claim more of an alpha dog position at school instead of being so low key and laid back.

How, you said, he was wasting time on writing a fantasy book, which would never be published because, after all, he was only fifteen.

How you felt you were probably going to land up supporting his slacker ass when he grows up.

That’s when I could no longer stand it and put in my headphones.

Oooohhh how I bit my tongue and channeled my anger into warm and positive thoughts about my own mom, who encouraged me to wallow in my imagination, enjoy my creativity, share my crazy ideas, write books, doodle on every scrap of paper in sight and put my thoughts down on paper for others to enjoy.

Damn, I am so very lucky to have a mom who was interested in my ideas and actually helped me to see many of them to fruition. Case in point, this set from my TV series (seen in this picture taken a few years ago) was actually conceived when I was sixteen.

It was round about then that I was called in by the guidance counselor in high school and told I should consider leaving school at some stage and doing a trade because my grades were so awful.

I told him I actually intended to be a best-selling author.

He looked at me and chuckled. “Dream on,” he said.

And so I did.

And I reached that dream thanks to my mom’s unwavering support and my sheer determination to prove the guidance counselor wrong.

Dear person who sat behind me on a plane, I hope your son proves you so wrong!

And, by the way, that guy muttering under his breath, all the way out of the plane, in an attempt to get away from your loud, intrusive voice…was me.

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