Tuesday, November 21, 2006


I got an email from an old friend, who actually is a scientist (in contrast to me), in which he said, “I haven't pondered about the universe since there was little I could do about it or care.” (I have assaulted him with my own ponderings about the universe, probably hoping for his approval. I never grew up.) His letter reminded me of the moment I became interested in things not on this world.

While in grammar school I was an avid reader. When I found an author I liked I stuck with him. I read the Oz series by L. Frank Baum, the seafaring novels of Howard Pease, and the Revolutionary War series by Kenneth Roberts, among others. What with after school baseball, this left me little time for schoolwork. A boy must have priorities.

Sitting in class was one of the most boring things I have done in my life and I have a low threshold for boredom. The result was that I was often sent to the school library as punishment for misbehavior. That’s pretty funny, like throwing Br’er Rabbit into the briar patch. I could browse to my heart’s content.

While browsing, I came across a beautiful, illustrated book on astronomy and the beginnings of life on earth. What a revelation that was to a preteen. The life I was living wasn’t true reality. Reality was that we were all living on a rock hurtling through space. My imagination soared.

I never had the discipline or patience to get a formal education in that area, but it’s fun for me to speculate and let my imagination soar farther.


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