The light in my room comes on, it doesn’t matter much to me; I’m nearly seven and it’s past my bedtime so
any excuse to stay awake is a worthy one.
I blink in the abrupt flood of light, my eyes adjust and I see the shape
of my dad standing in my doorway. He’s
holding my bulky, nylon skiing jacket in one hand.
“Get dressed,” he says softly, not wanting to wake my little
sister in the next room. “I want to show you something.”
I should be asleep, so naturally I move much faster than I
do when he or my mom wake me up for school in the morning. If dad is waking me up, it must be good. I pull my jeans on over my pajamas. They are the scratchy sort, made of the same
waffle like material as my long johns are.
I ignore the scratchiness, because whatever Daddy has planned must be
out of this world. I put on my socks and
slip my feet into my sneakers without untying the laces; it takes too long to
tie them back up again. Why can’t I have
Velcro like a normal kid?
Daddy is waiting for me on the
couch; he hands my coat to me. I
carefully extract my mittens and blue stocking cap from the left sleeve. Mom and Dad always make me wear a stocking
cap, even if it’s one of the itchy, ugly royal blue ones with the white pom-pom
and Dad’s company logo woven into the band.
Normally I would protest, ask for us to find my pretty hat, or
something. But tonight, we might be
going on an adventure, so I’ll not argue.
When I’m suitably attired, Dad puts on his coat and gloves and together
we embark into the cold, clear, starry night.
We climb into the blue Chevy, no
warmer than the night outside, Dad doesn’t say much as he starts up the car.
“It will get warm soon,” is about
the extent of it, as he watches to make sure I buckle my seatbelt. Daddy has never been much for talking. That’s alright in my estimation; I can talk
enough for the both of us, which must have been the case because the car ride
seems short. We park in a lot, I don’t
see anything of any interest, but Daddy seems sure of himself as he helps me
out of the car. He holds my hand as we
cross the parking lot. I’m not sure of
where we are, but Daddy walks slowly so my short legs can keep up, he knows
where we are and I trust him. In the
distance are some figures, standing around tripods, holding flashlights with
red covers. They are pointing upwards,
to the heavens. I look up too, wondering
to what they are pointing. The moon is
big, white, and full tonight; as we approach I can see that they are adjusting
a large telescope on one of the tripods.
I know it’s a telescope, because I’ve seen one just like it in my
science book.
“Oh, it’s a good night for
gazing,” one of the telescope guys says to another, “not a cloud in the sky.” I can see them smile at me in the dim red light
as we approach.
“Have you come to take a look?” The man asks me, adjusting the tripod to
account for my stature. He already knows
the answer to his question. I nod,
uncharacteristically silent. “Put your
eye right there.” I do as the man instructs,
my shyness melts away as I blurt my opinion for all to hear.
“But, it’s BLURRY!”
Daddy laughs at my indignation,
his warm, infectious mirth filling the cold starry night. The telescope men can’t help but join him,
his laugh has always been contagious. The man who had lowered the telescope for me
checks the eye piece. “So it is,” he
replies as he makes an adjustment. “Try again,”
he offers, stepping back.
I balance carefully, trying not
to touch the eyepiece with my face, not wanting to disturb the telescope’s perfect
equilibrium. I close one eye and peer up
to see what the telescope holds on the other end and I see what Daddy wanted to
show me. I see the seas and mountains,
the bright white surface and the dark craters.
I look across the eyepiece at the smiling face of my father; he has given me the moon.
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