Through Spock, Leonard Nimoy taught me about self-sacrifice.
When Spock allowed himself to be battered by radiation, so the Enterprise could warp away from the imminent explosion of Khan’s vessel, I learned about how the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.
Or the one.
Through Spock, Leonard Nimoy taught me about friendship and camaraderie.
When Spock ignored the Federation’s command to resolve the mystery of Kirk and McCoy’s arrest after the death of Chancellor Gorkon. Spock set aside his obligation to Starfleet because his obligation to his friends, and to the truth, was more important than his career.
Through Spock, Leonard Nimoy taught me about inner conflict and peace.
When Genesis molded itself from nothing, Spock was reborn on its surface. A calm and calculating character for years the inner turmoil of what it means to be Vulcan, the anger and lust and frustration and pain, came forth as the planet shook itself loose. Earlier, in The Naked Time, a disturbed Spock struggled to maintain his aura of calmness only to reveal a pained, emotional core. A realization that even the most cool and collected can boil underneath, and that pain is as relevant as contentment in who I was as a person.
Through Spock, Leonard Nimoy taught me about what it means to be a person of morals. Someone who does the right thing, who is loyal, self-sacrificing, and above all else, human.
I will miss you terribly, Mr. Nimoy. My biggest regret now is never taking a few minutes in my youth, or beyond that, to write you a letter explaining how important your work was to me growing up. Maybe you never would have read it, but I’d like to think that maybe you might have.