I believe in the Secret Boy from Outer Space.
You see, when I was extremely young –probably around the age of four or five- my father would tell me stories of his youth to keep me entertained. Among the numerous adventures of Stevie, the accident-prone boy from down the street and my dad’s own flight from the police in his homemade go kart was the tale of the Secret Boy from Outer Space, or “Secret Boy” for short.
According to my dad, he was the product of an alien experiment in which he (a child of an alien species) was substituted for the actual child of his parents, then only a few months old. He would proceed to act as an observer of the human race, or something similar. He went on to detail how he had been operating under his disguise for years and that I should keep the secret of his extraterrestrial nature because, after all, the authorities were still looking for him.
At the conclusion of his tale, my eyes went wide with astonishment. How could my own father be an alien? In all the movies I’d ever seen, the aliens were portrayed as evil, power-hungry conquerors with the downfall of human civilization on their minds. Surely my dad couldn’t be one of them! I asked him about this; about how he could be from a society of frightening monsters, and yet remain so very unlike them. He responded that he was what he was, and that the entire story was true.
My mind reeling, I put aside my wonders at the nature of my father, and considered the implications this news held for myself. If my dad was an alien, then what was I? It was at this point when, as my dad describes, my eyes went wide with astonishment at the realization that I must be an alien, too: an enemy to my own species!
It didn’t take long for me to develop some doubt in the tale my father told me that day (my mom was quick to console me with the insistence that “Dad likes to make up stories” when I came to her, panicked that I was the son of an alien,) but that doesn’t change the fact that I had complete faith in what he told me. But now, whenever I feel anxious, worried, or otherwise stressed, I can turn to my dad for the assurance that things will be better. I believe him when he tells me that “this is nothing to worry about” because I have faith in the unconditional, loving trust that a child has in his parents: I still believe in the Secret Boy from Outer Space.
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