Far back in the mists of ancient time, in the great and glorious days of the former Galactic Empire, life was wild, rich and largely tax free. Mighty starships plied their way between exotic suns, seeking adventure and reward among the furthest reaches of Galactic space. In those days spirits were brave, the stakes were high, men were real men, women were real women and small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri were real small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri. And all dared to brave unknown terrors, to do mighty deeds, to boldly split infinitives that no man had split before--and thus was the Empire forged.
Many men of course became extremely rich, but this was perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of because no one was really poor--at least no one worth speaking of. And for all the richest and most successful merchants life inevitably became rather dull and niggly, and they began to imagine that this was therefore the fault of the worlds they'd settled on. None of them was entirely satisfactory: either the climate wasn't quite right in the later part of the afternoon, or the day was half an hour too long, or the sea was exactly the wrong shade of pink.
And thus were created the conditions for a staggering form of specialist industry: custom-made luxury planet building. The home of this industry was the planet Magrathea, where hyperspecial engineers sucked matter through white holes in space to form in into dream planets--gold planets, platinum planets, soft rubber planets with lots of earthquakes--all lovingly made to meet the exacting standards that the Galaxy's richest men naturally came to expect.
But so successful was this venture that Magrathea itself soon became the richest planet of all time and the rest of the Galaxy was reduced to abject poverty. And so the system broke down, the Empire collapsed, and a long sullen silence settled over a billion hungry worlds, disturbed only the pen scratchings of scholars as they labored into the night over smug little treatises on the value of a planned political economy.
Magrathea itself disappeared and its memory soon passed into the obscurity of legend.
In these enlightened days, of course, no one believes a word of it.
This little chapter about the planet Magrathea is a fairy tale. At least that's what everyone has come to believe. Fact has slipped into history, and history has passed into myth. It happens all the time. Stories get repeated, and, over time, they are embellished until they seem too fantastic to have any basis in reality. They are, thus, relegated to the realm of bedtime or campfire tales.
Today is my sister Rose's birthday. She turned 54. Her life is sort of a fairy tale, too. She was born in a time when doctors told parents to drop their Down Syndrome newborns off at mental institutions and forget about them. (Those were the instructions of my mother's doctor when my sister was born.) Doctors believed Down Syndrome children would never be able to walk or talk or progress much further than the diaper stage in development. (Again, that is what my mother's doctor told my parents.) Down Syndrome was seen as akin to a fatal birth defect.
My mother and father didn't listen to that doctor. They brought my sister home and began the job of parenting her. They didn't treat her as fragile or somehow disabled. Rose grew up learning her colors and alphabet and numbers. My mother became a fierce warrior to get her into the public school system. (Rose was born at a time when providing education for a child with challenges was not a legal requirement. Schools could deny education to kids like my sister.)
Rose went to school. She learned to write cursive (something that most teenagers in the 21st century can't do). She learned addition, subtraction, multiplication. She joined chorus. Rose went to the same high school as me. She got invited to go to football games while I stayed at home, reading books. (Truth be told, I preferred it that way.) If somebody gave my sister a hard time at school, I didn't have to defend her. The football team took care of it. Everybody loved Rose.
Eventually, she received a certificate of completion for high school. I think that day was one of the proudest of my parents' lives. Something that, 18 years before, was a dream or fantasy.
Yes, Rose has her struggles now. She has developed Alzheimer's. Just a couple weeks ago, she was having seizures because of new medications. Yet, when I stopped by my mother's house this evening to wish her a happy birthday, she was smiling and sweet. She asked about my son. Several times. I told her each time, "He's at his dance class right now."
My sister Rose is legend and myth and fairy tale. She has overcome every obstacle placed in her path. She is Snow White and Rapunzel. Sleeping Beauty and Princess Leia. She is a hero.
Tonight, Saint Marty thanks God for the birth and life of his sister.
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