Astronomy,
Layman Style
Nelda
Rachels
Always
on the lookout for the perfect educational experience, my husband
and I couldn't wait to introduce our children to their very first
lunar eclipse. On the scheduled night, with lawn chairs, blankets,
pillows, tape measure, flashlight, binoculars, mosquito repellent,
hoe (for the odd snake), and two children in tow, we installed
ourselves in the back yard under a sky where the moon and the
neon glow of stars took center stage.
We
vied for the best seats. My husband's tape measure came in handy
for this bit of "family planning." We spaced the children
at least twenty-four inches apart so no one's elbow or toe touched
anyone else's elbow or toe. After we had at last settled in (with
blankets and pillows divided—equally, of course), we lapsed
into a reverent and blissful silence—for about two seconds.
Then
it was that the oldest child, our son, who was just entering puberty
and therefore excused from any mysterious or irrational behaviors,
began humming the latest rock tune while meowing at the cats,
which had decided to join the lunar watch.
The
tune was not to my liking, nor the meowing, so I requested he
stop so the rest of us could concentrate.
"Concentrate?
On an eclipse? But whatever for?" he asked, incredulous.
I
gushed, "So we can meditate, be at one with the universe,
admire God's handiwork, and watch this once-in-a-blue-moon eclipse.
Besides, the noise is getting on my nerves."
"What's
an eclipse?" asked our youngest, usually happiest, but sometimes
confused daughter.
My
husband sighed. We had, of course, previously explained it all
with our ancient 1973 encyclopedia and textbooks, but he tried
again, this time more creatively. "It's when the moon, the
sun, and the earth stand in a straight line up in the sky—for
what, who knows? Maybe they're in the army. At any rate, the earth
butts between the sun and the moon. The earth, bully that he is,
glowers darkly over the moon, but eventually the line breaks up
and the moon shines again. All's well that ends well, hey?"
Not
to be outdone, I added, "It's as if the moon plays peek-a-boo
with the earth while they're standing in the army chow-line. It's
simple, really."
Our
son shook his head and groaned.
Two
more seconds of quiet. The dogs joined us, scratching fleas.
"Ugh!
The dogs stink!" shouted our son.
"So?"
retorts daughter. "So does your feet!"
"Does
not!"
"Does
too!"
"Does
not!"
"Stop
it, you two! What happened to meditation?" I asked.
After
more silence, just long enough for the heavy black curtain filled
with planets and stars to begin its descent on our consciousness,
our daughter asked, "Uh, what is that round thing? The earth?"
We
groaned.
"Earth
to Sis, Earth to Sis, come back to Earth, Sis!"
"So?
You're from Mars!" Sticking out her tongue, she taunted in
her most sing-songy voice, "Bro looks like a Martian, Bro
looks like a Martian!"
"Do
not!"
"Do
too!"
"Do
not!"
"Stop!
Quiet, please," I begged.
After
two quiet seconds, Sis complained, "I'm cold. I need a sweater."
"Me
too!"
After
the children left, my husband said, "I bet they really went
in to get some of those cookies you baked this afternoon."
A
female voice shouted, "Don't get too many, or I'm telling!"
I
felt my husband's smile in the darkness. "Didn't I tell you?"
The
children came back, giggling, minus the sweaters. They decided
to ignore our carefully measured seating arrangements and share
a lawn chair. Bro pulled the dog's tail. Sis bumped Bro, but before
a fight could break out, we all saw it—a streak of light
across the sky, as if a tube of a neon light had just flickered
on, then off.
"It's
a shooting star," I decreed.
"It's
a lightning bug! A plane!" The children chimed.
My
husband started, "No, it's—"
"Superman!"
we shouted in unison.
We
laughed, and then grew silent.
Two
seconds later, someone called for the binoculars.
"It's
my turn!"
"No,
it's my turn!"
"I brought them out here!"
Our
daughter got another turn, a long one, in which she zoned out
in a trance. Finally, she lowered the binoculars and blurted,
"What is that round thing, again?"
We
groaned.
"Oh,
I remember, it's the moon getting hidded from the sun."
"Thank
you for remembering!" Bro exclaimed.
"So?
I don't want to be an as-tro-whatever, anyway!"
Our
son corrected, "Astronaut! You don't want to be an astronaut.
Good thing! You'd land your rocket on the wrong planet!"
"Would
not!"
"Would
too!"
"Would
not!"
Two
seconds of silence later, we began drifting, one by one, back
into the house. The eclipse was taking too long. Only my husband
stayed to watch.
I
asked him the next day, "So, how was the eclipse?"
He
answered sheepishly, "I fell asleep."
I
laughed. "You know, I think our family just set astronomy
back two hundred years."
"Oh
further than that," he insisted. "We pushed it back
into the Pre-Copernican Era, at least!"
***
Nelda
Rachels works as a tutor in the Writing Center at the University
of Tennessee at Martin. She also freelances and has published
articles in Draft Horse Journal, Country Handcrafts,
Back Home in Kentucky, local newspapers, and Hometown
(a northwest Tennessee publication). Since the children have grown,
Nelda and her husband now enjoy quieter nights gazing at the moon
and stars.
©
Nelda Rachels