To Infinity And Beyond!

Raising children is the ultimate graffiti! Even better, you get to leave your imprint on a person instead of a slab of brick. Not only will your genes be passed on, but your likes, dislikes, hobbies and curiosities will seed their way into that little person and on down the line. Tons of research has been done that points to genetic predisposition of certain skills and abilities. So, Grandma may have been on to something when she told you that you got your beautiful singing voice from Grandpa’s family. Kids really are putty in our hands, and they do soak up everything like little sponges. This is why my husband and I try to give our kids a wide range of experiences and exposure to different people, things and ideas. But try as we might, people inevitably tend to steer their children towards the things they love, in turn passing that love on and on, throughout the generations. Researchers specializing in nature versus nurture and genetics may be unhappy with my little explanation there, but let them get their own blog.

My husband and I tend to steer our kids towards adventures of discovery, experimentation and space every chance we get. Nurture or nature, like so many before them, my kids are fascinated by the moon, the stars and all the things they can and can’t see above them. This is why they happily stood in a long line at the Southern Festival of Books to meet Buzz Aldrin and get him to autograph their copy of Look to the Stars. My four year old daughter was especially excited, because she had a question that only he and eight other people on the planet would be able to answer.

I have to admit, I was more than excited myself. I had visions of getting the kids picture taken with Mr. Aldrin, and a personalized autograph for my husband’s copy of Magnificent Desolation: The Long Journey Home from the Moon.

This once in a lifetime opportunity to deliver on childhood dreams could secure a spot in parenting (and spouse) history for me. My hopes were quickly dashed when I saw the line growing behind us. Mr. Aldrin wouldn’t have time to pose for photos or personalize autographs, not even for cute little Irish-Indian kiddies like mine.  But, I’m adaptable, so I just began to worry if  Mr. Aldrin would be able to understand Bani’s nasal southern accent. If the anxiety of a couple thousand people standing behind you while an American Icon sits in front of you wasn’t bad enough, this was no ordinary signing table, either. Buzz Aldrin had a posse in tow: a festival staffer, a photographer, a festival liaison and ambassador, author Margaret Lazarus Dean, and Ken Abraham, co-author of Magnificent Desolation: The Long Journey Home from the Moon all sat shoulder to shoulder waiting for us.

“Uscuse me, Mr. Oddrin,” Bani sputtered a few times before he found her little face just above the edge of the table.

“Well! Yes?” Buzz Aldrin said in a tone that I hear adults use with children a lot.

It’s the tone that means ‘hello cute little kid who doesn’t really understand much of anything, what do you want?'  Now, I’m not insinuating that it is wrong to use this tone with a child, really. Kids are wonderful, but as a mother of three of them, I know the deal – they can be exasperating and annoying, too. But we are talking about my kid, and she is amazingly intelligent, logical and fiercely determined with a bit of a Bani-ttude (this is one of those genetic traits, see Misery Loves Company for a recent maternal example), and she definitely understands way too much of everything around her.

“Uscuse me, when you were on da moon, did you wawk,” her little brow furrows in accusation, and she adds, “or did you hop?”

No one is paying attention to us as far as I can tell. There are conversations swirling around us. Ken Abraham and a festival volunteer are chatting, excited fans jabber, and the photographer's shutter is clicking non-stop. Only Bani, Buzz Aldrin and I know that my daughter has just asked one of America’s greatest heroes to qualify “walking on the moon”, because as far as she can deduce, he did not walk on the moon.
Buzz Aldrin not only understood Bani’s question, but he understood why she was asking it. He hesitated for just a split second, looked her in the eye, and started to explain.

“Well, how much do you weigh, young lady?”

Bani looked up to me for the answer. I leaned down and whispered ‘thirty-five pounds’ in her ear.

“Turdy-fibe inches,” she told him proudly.

Buzz Aldrin has maneuvered far more dangerous things than a four year old, but it was still impressive to watch. He didn’t bat an eye.

“Ok, thirty-five inches, on the moon you would weigh about five pounds,” big Buzz-the-astronaut-smile, “the difference in your weight is because the gravitational force of the moon is less than Earth’s.”

People have started paying attention, and I’m proud and horrified at the same time. I’m watching her face. Bani’s eyes light up and flash; I can see the cogs turning inside her head as Buzz Aldrin explains how the forces of nature work on the moon. I’ve been engrossed in my daughter’s wonderment and have missed nearly all of Mr. Aldrin’s explanation. I come out of my trance just in time to hear the final answer.

“So, I didn’t really walk on the moon, and I didn’t quite hop, either,” he leaned forward a little closer to Bani, “It was more like I bounced on the moon.”

Bani nodded, put her right hand on her freshly signed book and slid it over the edge of the table into her waiting left hand.

"Tanks, Mr. Oddrin,” she told him and started walking away. What could I do but follow?

We roamed around the festival, and ate lunch before deciding to check back at the signing tables before leaving. Mr. Aldrin was answering questions for a local reporter and packing up to leave.  

Lucky for me Margaret Lazarus Dean, author of  The Time It Takes to Fall: A Novel, was still there helping Mr. Aldrin.  Margaret is not just an author; she’s a parent, too.  She must have noticed the look of eager hope in my eyes.  She arranged for my moon maniacs to pose for a photo with Mr. Aldrin, which we took with her camera, and she later emailed to me.  Whether it was luck, Kharma or just plain old kindness that helped me, I delivered on a childhood dream that day: The Man in The Moon, I’m just not sure whose dream - theirs or mine.