He may not have been the “best” Bond, but he was my Bond, the one I grew up with.

My parents used to take me to his movies regularly, and it was always a thrill. The iconic, deadly cool theme music, the risque opening in which you could kind-of-and-kind-of-not see naked women, and then the whole camp fantasy of being a handsome and unflappable spy– it was all immensely appealing to a boy on the cusp of puberty.

Kind of like a Wes Anderson film, the Bond movies starring Roger Moore were a child’s vision of the adult world — a comic book fantasia made manifest, but one that promised to be safe, free from the dreary weight of all the unimaginable day-to-day realities that lay ahead.

I was 13 when Moonraker came out. Jaws, a lurching behemoth with steel fangs, was the primary villain, and he was awesome. At the end of the film, after Bond had coasted to victory and Jaws was pulling himself out of the rubble of some foiled plan, a tiny blonde– busty, pigtailed and bespectacled– appeared to help him. Jaws turns and smiles, his metal teeth glinting, and she smiles back. It’s love at first sight, and they then exit into some charming and eccentric future together.

What I remember, and what everybody I have asked remembers about this scene, is that the woman ( Dolly) had braces. This was what connected the two. In spite of their size difference, they were soul mates in braces. It was the sort of thing a 13 year-old kid, the type of kid who might actually have had braces, and that the movie was trying to appeal to, instantly related to. All of us watching, in the midst of our tortured, monstrous throes of puberty, hoped to find a Dolly, too. It was something that resonated deeply and stayed with us.

Anyhow, in returning to the YouTube clip of the scene, I saw that it was clear that Dolly did not have braces.

I mean, I had been fucking positive she had braces.

This braces-less reality seemed utterly impossible to me, like discovering I was a Replicant and not a human at all, but there it was.

No braces.

Anyhow, if like me, you remember Hannibal Lecter saying, “Hello, Clarice,” or Darth Vader intoning, “Luke, I am your father,” or Sally Field shouting, “You like me, you really like me!” while accepting an Oscar, then you have apparently experienced what I have just discovered is known as the Mandela Effect.

Now what the Mandela Effect is, is complicated, Internet complicated, and it’s layered in the sort of conspiratorial proofs that only online culture can provide.

Dive deep, if you wish:

Without tunnelling into the rabbit holes surrounding this phenomena, I will simply say that what clearly emerges from all this is that our memory, be it individual or collective, is incredibly unreliable. Sometimes, what we believe to be true, what we know in our bones to be true, what even our tribe agrees is true, is not true. Memory is mysterious, a product of our consciousness that is constantly being constructed and revised, existing as a work in progress rather than some immutable photograph we can reference at will. Everything is in flux, and the truth, as unpalatable as it is, is that we know nothing for sure, and are very, very easily manipulated. In the furious age of Trump, it’s wise to keep this in mind before launching a scorched earth assault on anything that might contradict our world view. We would all benefit from a little less certainty and a little more kindness, I think.

These are the texts messages I sent my wife in a recent conversation:

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Me: Just watered my plant.

Me: No.

Me: No, you’re wrong. The plant is doing great.

Me: I’m really going to look after it.

Me: I am going to be a money tree ninja.

Me: One hundred dollar bills are going to be growing on that fucker!

Me: And each bill will blossom into the exact change for the laundry!

Me: Really?

Me: Well, why do they call it a money tree if it doesn’t grow money?

Me: Marketing?

Me: The fuckers.

Me: Fake news is everywhere! It’s getting hard to know how to navigate this world!

Me: Oh, you think a job would help?

Me: You’d be wrong! Just like you are about my plant’s chances for survival!

Me: It’s way better than 15%!

Me: That plant has at least a 50-50 shot. Easily.

Me: I bought a spray bottle for that plant! It’s getting the five star Murray treatment!

Me: That’s what you’re worried about. Ha-ha.

Me: So very clever.

Me: But listen, not everybody needs a job in order to be fulfilled.

Me: Criminals, for instance.

Me: Oh.

Me: Yeah, I guess they do make license plates and stuff.

Me: Okay.

Me: Deer.

Me: Deer don’t have jobs. They don’t even respect the law, man!

Me: Crush the system!

Me: Look, I will eventually get a job.

Me: I will.

Me: I just need to finish the designs for my cryptozoology tarot cards and then I can open up shop and start reading fortunes!!

Me: I was told I could set up a table at Snakes and Lattes.

Me: Well, yes.

Me: I would have to pay a small rental, but that would come out of my fantasy baseball investment portfolio.

Me: Are you serious???

Me: Really???

Me: Fuck!

Me: I can’t believe somebody else already came up with the idea for cryptozoology tarot cards!

Me: Damn it!

Me: I was really looking forward to going on Dragon’s Den, too.

Me: Oh well, back to the drawing board! Fall six times, get up seven, that’s my motto.

Me: “More like fall six million times?”

Me: Good one, Petal.

Me: It’s true, you are a very funny and talented woman who doesn’t drink too much!

Me: No, I don’t know what you’re doing with me either.

Me: Really does seem an uneven match.

Me: Jones?

Me: Yeah, I think he’s around somewhere.

Me: Oh there he is! Standing up on the wobbly chair right by the window and a bunch of dangerous ledges!

Me: He’s fine, having some quality dad time!

Me: Oh you and your elite mothering!

Me: Fine!

Me: He’s down now, playing with a little brown ball on the floor.

Me: Oh.

Me: It’s actually a peeled apple.

Me: Gross.

Me: Listen I’m going to tell you something.

Me: When he hides, I ALWAYS see him.

Me: He’s just not as smart as he thinks he is.

Me: Fine.

Me: Fine. I will perpetuate the peek-a-boo myth if you insist, and throw out the dirt apple, but I am sure as hell not going back to that job at the Box Factory!

Me: Okay, see you at 5:30! xox

He has a few words, but they’re still unreliable and slippery. His verbalizing remains musical, each vocalization a note to a song that lives only in him. And so we were startled when he began to utter words, words we had never heard him say before, with absolute clarity.

The first time, while upsetting his food, he suddenly stopped and clearly said, “Osprey.” He then receded back into his activities, but within five minutes our friend Ottilie showed up at the door. ( She was having a panic attack because she’d lost a contact lens.) It was a bit of a freak-out, that.

Did Jones have ESP?

Later, while he was throwing building blocks at our chandelier, he stopped and said, “Pree-Pree.” Two minutes later, the delivery of my cheeseburger from Burger’s Priest arrived.

It was at this point that I realized our boy had a gift.

And as I am a Tiger Mother Dad, I decided to immediately implement an ESP training plan:

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Ouija Board Exercise

My son and I seek to contact a spirit.

1. Jones flips ouija board over.

2. Jones flips ouija board over.

3. Jones flips ouija board over.

Pokemon Go Exercise

Pokemon Go uses the GPS in your phone to help you locate the “spirits” you must capture in order to win the game. After showing Jones a character from the game, I take him out into the city to see if he can lead me to the Pokemon in question without my help.

1. Wigglytuff

Jones obsessed with stairs at front of apartment. Must climb up and down. Like baby robot obeying dark master. Feel like he’s been doing this for hours. Possessed? J certainly has his mother’s endurance, that’s for sure! Forgot to get her special grapes at the store! Fuck!!

2. Dewgong

Again Jones was dazzled by front stairs. Tried to lead him away but very, very stubborn!! Just dug in and yelled until I quit. Could a passage to a spirit realm exist there? Might have to start digging.

3. Ponyta

Jones drawn (summoned?) to empty bottle on street. Bangs it against twig as if conjuring super cute fire pony Ponyta. No Ponyta, though a Charmander was near. (N.B: Old Asian women dominant in bottle reclamation! WHY???)

Card Test

I select a playing card at random from a deck and attempt to telepathically transmit it to Jones.

1. J sticks something dangerous and sharp from ouija board in his mouth. Next several minutes spent trying to take thing out of his mouth. Forgot card I was sending him.
2. Jones finds raspberry bowl. Dumps on floor. Stamps. Purple red splatter everywhere.Like Pulp Fiction in here. Actually traumatic. J then throws dust pan into my face knocking off glasses. Funniest thing he’s ever seen. Unresponsive to psychic message of 3 of Clubs.

3. Concentrating on sending card while Jones screams. Shouting very piercing, very upsetting. Bad for health. Such a fucking headache. Sometimes just want to give up, turn into water. Take emergency pot brownie I keep wrapped in Kleenex in my pocket. Conclude experiment.