A History of Conviction

    At the age of five, after my parents had put me to bed and they themselves retired to their room downstairs, my nighttime ritual began. I’d crawl out of bed and walk towards the window across the room, making sure to avoid the parts of the floor that creaked. Pushing aside the drapes, my quarters instantly flooded with light from the street lamps and traffic of Manchester. We lived atop a hill located just outside the city, offering a wide view that was the industrial equivalent to a picturesque mountain landscape. It also offered a strategic location for giant spotting.

    My paranoia began when my parents sat me down to watch the live-action movie Beanstalk, a 1994 adaptation of the famous childhood storybook, Jack and the Beanstalk. I had told them of the cartoon version I had seen in Kindergarten, and they thought a more recent, Hollywood-budgeted version would delight me.

    As I watched from the couch seated between mom and dad on either side, I grew immensely excited, for this movie was far superior to that of choppy 2-D animation. I hadn’t seen many movies yet except for fantasy, so by nature I favored the genre over others. But from my praise for real actors and awesome CGI during the growing of the beanstalk, there also grew a concern. Sprouting deep from within my young and easily frightened self was the idea that they would use a real giant. At the time, Santa was still the greatest person alive, the Easter Bunny was elusive yet rewarding, and Big Foot was always walking through my grandfather’s wooded property up in northern New Hampshire. I’ve heard of giants before, and assumed they played a tangible part in reality just like the others.

    “No”, I thought to myself, “they always cop out on quality by throwing in a cartoon monster”.  I was trying to rationalize it. I was talking myself out of peeing my pants. I was not prepared to see a being so widely feared and detested, for at age five, everything scared me, and I had the imagination that went straight to creating the most terrifying of scenarios. I watched on while leaning on my dad, his arm perfectly positioned, covering half of my vision. It helped little, for the knot in my stomach tightened as Jack climbed the beanstalk. This movie was not fiction, it was real. The once appreciated live-action aspect soon played with my head, and I began to realize that this was what actually happened, what the books and cartoons were inspired by. I was watching this perceived snuff film casually in my living room on a Friday night with my parents. I literally did not have the balls yet to deal with this crazy shit!

    I was five. The giant appeared and I screamed, for seeing him confirmed their existence. For the next two hours my parents consoled me, telling me that what I saw was not real and that giants did not exist. I knew what I saw, and concluded that my parents were in on the global cover-up of the existence of giants.

    Fortunately, I had watched and heard enough prior versions to know that giants could come down to earth. They were like crocodiles or mudskippers. These things could live in multiple environments! That, in addition to their obvious size advantage made them the greatest foe of all, and I knew that if I were not on my guard, I would be susceptible to a giant attack at any moment.

    After that fateful, informing night, I pledged to myself to not be a victim. So as my parents lay asleep under the perceived notion that they were immune to being eaten, or crushed, or thrown hundreds of miles to a certain death, I stayed up as long as I could by my bedroom window. I set my eyes beyond the city lights, scanning the peaks in the distance; I had visited my grandfather’s house up north in the White Mountains, and so I knew that the sky-piercing pikes could offer easy transportation down to earth.

    First, I would set up my station comprised of binoculars, my father’s old toy rifle, pretzel sticks (really any snack that was laying around the kitchen that afternoon), Poke’mon cards for viewing and appreciation, and a pillow in case I needed rest. So in front of my bedroom window at night I stood, diligent and ready to meet my fear head-on. My confidence and aptitude to face death was not unaided I must admit. There were two things that assured my survival. If at any moment a giant rampaged through Manchester, making a B-line towards my house, I knew the toy rifle would turn real. And in case my aim was not precise; my bicycle (with training wheels for stability during quick escapes) was always right against the garage door, prepped and ready.

    This was how I lived for about six months, give or take. It started in the summer I recall, and ended when I found out during Christmas that Santa was not real. Once Santa was dead to me, the Easter Bunny was engulfed in flames and giants became fictionalized almost instantly. My faith in Big Foot persisted for a few more years to come however...

    To this day, I don’t see myself as having been naïve. Giants were as true to me then as the oceans are blue today. We’re constantly learning and constantly revealing to ourselves a different perspective, a different world that is just as true as the last. So if you’re religious, or have a cause, or think you’re in love with the most beautiful person in the world, I won’t try to disprove you, because there’s always a chance I could be saying the equivalent of, “the world is flat”.