Eleven Days to Zero

My grandparents owned a television and we didn’t. My father wanted us to talk, to interact, to read and not to be a slave of what others thought we should see.

Almost every weekend and the bigger part of the school holidays I stayed with my grandparents and by extension their television.

I remember it seemed to take forever before an image appeared and there where only 2 channels.

The year was 1965 and I was 6 and television was still a rarity.

A few days ago, while surfing the Net, I remembered a show on TV that I loved and hated at the same time. The monsters of the deep, the sound of the sonar, the fear I had when the sub was not able to surface because of X-number of factors.

It has been almost half a century ago when I, Franco, a little boy, screamed with fear when this giant octopus entered the scene or a devastating earthquake made the crew of the Seaview shit their pants.

Yesterday I saw the first episode of “Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea” again and I was thrown back 45 years in time.

Overacting, obvious special effects but hell, I was once again a kid and I loved every second. No explosions, car chases and other high-tech CGI effects but pure and honest storytelling and fear created by sound and the way people speak, so simple yet very effective with drama and the cold war so very present as the fear for a global nuclear war.

45+ years ago I was a kid and I had loving grandparents and I had my father and my mother and I thought everything would last forever.

Boy was I wrong!
I lost them all, Nana, Baba, Daddy, Mommy in the space of 10 years.

And later I started my own family and I fucked it up and got divorced.

Then I met Princess and everything made sense once again.

I want to finish my life with Princess.

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