There are conventions for people with serious, boring

"There are conventions for people with serious, boring inventions, but fad inventors need help. You need someone to talk to. You just can't tell your friends you're going to invent a pet rock and mortgage your house to pay for it. It's embarrassing... risky mentally. Your friends think you're crazy." So spoke Ken Hakuta, known as “Dr. Fad,” the champion of playful creations and whimsical ideas. His words, half in jest, carry a truth of great weight: that the road of the dreamer, especially the dreamer of the unusual, is filled with doubt, ridicule, and peril of the spirit.

The ancients, though they spoke not of “pet rocks” or modern toys, knew this same trial. The one who dared to speak visions unseen, the one who proposed paths unwalked, was often mocked by his neighbors. Socrates, questioning the accepted ways of Athens, was called mad and condemned. Columbus, dreaming of a western passage, was thought delusional by many before he set sail. To be an inventor of fads—of things that seem trivial or strange to the cautious mind—is to walk this same road of mockery and risk, where one must bear both the laughter of friends and the uncertainty of one’s own heart.

Hakuta’s words remind us that behind every “crazy” idea lies the torment of isolation. He speaks of the need for “someone to talk to,” for the human heart grows weary when burdened with visions it cannot share. To mortgage one’s house for a pet rock, or to labor for years on a toy or a trinket, feels absurd in the eyes of the world. And yet, history shows us that often it is the absurd that delights humanity most. The light bulb, once considered impractical, now fills the world with day. The airplane, mocked as fantasy, now carries millions across the skies. Even the Pet Rock, scorned by many, became a legend of creativity and humor in its time.

There is courage, then, in the path of the “fad” inventor. For such a one is not guided by logic alone, but by imagination—the most fragile and yet most powerful of human gifts. He risks not only his money, but his dignity. He risks being called a fool, a dreamer, a madman. Yet it is these very souls who often remind the world that not all value lies in utility. Sometimes it lies in joy, in laughter, in the strange spark that makes people smile and remember that life is not only work, but also play.

History offers us another tale: Walt Disney, who was told that a mouse could never charm audiences, nearly lost everything in pursuit of his vision. His friends and rivals thought him foolish. Yet that mouse, drawn in shaky ink, became the heart of an empire that shaped the childhood of millions. Like Hakuta’s words suggest, it was embarrassing, it was risky, it was even “crazy.” But without such madness, the world would have been emptier of wonder.

O children of tomorrow, hear this lesson: the world will always call you crazy when you dream outside its lines. To chase a vision of joy, of novelty, of laughter, will seem to others like folly. Yet if the fire burns within you, do not let embarrassment silence you. Find those few who believe, speak your vision to them, and let their faith strengthen yours. For many will mock, but the world needs its Pet Rocks as much as its pyramids, its laughter as much as its laws.

Therefore, live boldly. If your dream is serious, pursue it with discipline. If your dream is playful, pursue it with courage. Do not be ashamed if others do not understand; the greatest inventors and creators were once thought to be fools. But fools, in time, are often revealed as visionaries. Hakuta’s words remind us that the risk of looking mad is the price of creation—and that the true madness is to live a life without ever daring to create.

Thus, the teaching stands: whether your invention be grand or whimsical, do not be afraid of being misunderstood. For all things new are born first in ridicule. And if you endure, your “crazy” dream may yet become the world’s delight.