Ray Bradbury: We Are All His Illegitimate Children

As you have probably heard, we lost speculative fiction giant Ray Bradbury last week. You can read tons of very nice, touching thoughts on what he did for science fiction around the internet.

Of all the giants, he was the one who I felt I knew the best. Not because I read more of his stuff than anyone else. Not because a story of his touched me deeper than anyone else’s (though All Summer in a Day tends to make me cry).

You see, I am Ray Bradbury’s bastard child. And so are you.

 

 

I was lucky enough to see him twice in person, at San Diego Comic-cons 2008 and 2009. When I first was planning my trip in 2008, I was surprised to learn that he’d be there. I guess, somewhere, I’d lumped him in with Asimov and Heinlein – that I’d missed my chance. But no – he went every year.

Well, I wasn’t going to miss that.

It was always interesting – they’d give him one of the largest rooms, and hundreds, if not thousands, of people, would stuff in. And he was a little hard of hearing and edging on being a crazy old man, but the moderators and the audience always treated him like a favored grandfather.

People would bring him toy dinosaurs and tell him how much his stories had inspired them, and he would tell us what he was working on and rant about whatever he felt like ranting about.

And yes, once, he said we were all his bastard children. Or so he considered us.

Ray Bradbury always won, no matter what other panels he was up against, and I count myself lucky to have been able to listen to him a few times before he left on the next great adventure.

Thanks for the stories, Ray. We’ll miss you.

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