BACK! After 2 weeks off.
[Warning to all you humor hounds out there -- this is not a funny Blog entry. It won't happen often, but this is kind of Blogworthy.]
I just had a woman call who said she had been here a couple months back for a kindergarten group show, and said the she and her kid and his class enjoyed the program a lot. They all say that! It almost gets boring hearing it after a while. They're just impressed by the dome. They go home and they forget about it after a couple hours, of course. It's just some stuff about space and big bright pictures -- it's impressive at first but it fades.
She said that her kid just 'graduated' from Kindergarten, and that they have a little ceremony at the school. The kids all step up and say what they liked about kindergarten. She said that most kids just walk up and say "I liked snack time." or "I like coloring." or "I like playing on the slide with my friends." She said that her child stepped up and said, "The best part was the trip to the Planetarium."
She told me that all the kids got quiet for a second. Then they all erupted into applause, apparently in recollection and agreement.
Wow. That's kind of cool.
Not only did it happen, but this woman called me to tell me that it happened.
I'm not sure if I can adequately explain just how powerful that is. Whoof.
Of course, when the three pre-k groups come tomorrow, followed by a birthday party, the warm fuzzies will be completely drowned out by the squealing. But for now it feels kind of OK.
Thursday, June 12, 2003
Today included a full-house of pre-K kids. As you know, they are my favorite. Squirming little devils who just want to run around, make the seats squeak, yell greetings to their friends, and have no concept of anything remotely scientific... Yep, being stuck in a room with 60 of them is one of my favorite things in the world.
These kids were about as good as any. They were not bad, really, they were just acting how 3 year olds are supposed to act. This blog isn't about the kids, anyway.
It's about one of the dads. I will refer to him as SportDad. for the remainder of this Blog.
Before I discuss SportDad, let me tell you a little about what happens when a pre-kindergarten group arrives. I may have mentioned this stuff before; I apologize if it is repetitive. I think (honestly!) that there is a law saying something about kids who are younger than 5 or less than a certain weight (I really am not sure of any of the actual facts, I just know I've heard something of the sort) must be in a child-safety-restraint seat. SO, they always have to come in separate cars -- a bus will not do. Maybe if there was a bus completely laden with kid carseats, but I'm guessing that they don't have those. SO, they are all coming to a campus which is hard to find, need to park in a parking lot which is hard to find, to come to the Planetarium -- also hard to find. The show was supposed to begin at 12:30, so most parents figure that they will park by 12:28, that will give them TWO WHOLE MINUTES to get inside. It is at LEAST a 5 minute walk, especially if you have someone with 14 inch legs in tow, from the closest parking lot. It is at LEAST a 5 minute drive through campus to get to the parking lot. It is at LEAST a 5 minute wait by either of the traffic lights which leads you of the main road towards campus. Which means a pre-k group starts at LEAST 20 minutes late.
Today was no exception.
A few conscientious parents arrived VERY early; as much as 20 minutes early. Which means, by the time the show begins, these kids have been asked to sit still for FORTY MINUTES. Three and Four year olds are NOT thrilled by this.
Anyway, arriving at about 12:25 was SportDad, with his daughter. He was dressed all in black. SportDad was quite fit, I will give him that. How do I know he was so fit? Because SportDad was wearing all black SPANDEX. A Spandex unitard of some sort... kind of like a wrestler wears; a singlet. In public! To a Planetarium program! With his daughter!! And 59 of her closest four-year-old friends!!! Trust me, I know a lot more about his physique than I ever want to know.
He was walking down the hill as if he was wearing a three-piece suit -- not self-conscious at all that his entire body, including his franks and beans, was shrink-wrapped for all to see.
He came up, and in a dark, solid voice, greeted me, "Hey. How ya doin?"
I just stared at his face, hoping the lower part of my peripheral vision did not make it 'south of the border'. I managed to say absolutely nothing.
"Planetarium show?" he asked me. I just pointed to the open door.
"Cool." SportDad walked on in, young daughter in tow.
As he walked in the door, there was a mom with son in tow behind him. I was NOT looking that way, but as she followed him in, I heard her say to no one in particular, (but an obvious comment about the dismay of her current view of SportDad's tightly fitting wardrobe), "Well. I see he brought his ass."
I laughed and laughed.
After a little while, once it seemed that most of the people had made it there, I made my way into the dome. Everyone was sitting down. Except, of course, for SportDad. He was standing next to what I assume is the empty seat he has claimed for himself at the end of the row, with his arms crossed in front of himself, grinning like crazy. Try to imagine Mr. Clean, with a little bit of hair, wearing something that might as well be painted on.
I siad, "Well, we're ready to get started! Take your seats!" I should have said "Take your seat!" since there was only one person standing.
With some unexplainable grunting, SportDad sat down.
I drift around the room during a program. It adds a dynamic, keeps me interested, and an occassional bonus is that I scare the children. As I wandered around the room, I felt bad for the people who were sitting near SportDad. He had apparently come straight from his career as a professional wrestler, since he smelled like a gymnasium locker room. Which had been inhabited by monkeys. Not clean, deoderized monkeys, mind you, the unkempt, stinky kind. I didn't talk much when I was by him, because the stench was so strong, with your mouth open, I swear you could taste it.
At the end of the program, people were coming up and thanking me for a fun program. Of course all the parents decided that their kids loved it, and that they really want to have their birthday party there. (NO!! THAT WAS YOU!! NOT THE KID!! GO TO CHUCK E CHEESE!! PLEASE!)
SportDad came up to me and told me, "That was good. Thank you." And he thrust out a palm to be shaken.
I was expected to touch SportDad!! This was not in the job description! I would have remembered it: "...discussing the stars and planets with visiting school groups. Also, on occassion, you made need to press flesh against foul-smelling men who are only a technicality away from being naked."
I knew I couldn't just let him hang there; it's part of my job to be cordial to all types. I shook his hand, but oddly -- I sort of just pincered his hand between by thumb and pinky, and hardly touched him at all. I bobbed it up and down once, and let go, as if he had monkeypox. No other part of my hand made contact.
On the door of the Planetarium is a sign which states: "No food / No smoking in the Planetarium." I am thinking of adding "Also, at least 2 layers of clothes, and one layer of deoderant required."
These kids were about as good as any. They were not bad, really, they were just acting how 3 year olds are supposed to act. This blog isn't about the kids, anyway.
It's about one of the dads. I will refer to him as SportDad. for the remainder of this Blog.
Before I discuss SportDad, let me tell you a little about what happens when a pre-kindergarten group arrives. I may have mentioned this stuff before; I apologize if it is repetitive. I think (honestly!) that there is a law saying something about kids who are younger than 5 or less than a certain weight (I really am not sure of any of the actual facts, I just know I've heard something of the sort) must be in a child-safety-restraint seat. SO, they always have to come in separate cars -- a bus will not do. Maybe if there was a bus completely laden with kid carseats, but I'm guessing that they don't have those. SO, they are all coming to a campus which is hard to find, need to park in a parking lot which is hard to find, to come to the Planetarium -- also hard to find. The show was supposed to begin at 12:30, so most parents figure that they will park by 12:28, that will give them TWO WHOLE MINUTES to get inside. It is at LEAST a 5 minute walk, especially if you have someone with 14 inch legs in tow, from the closest parking lot. It is at LEAST a 5 minute drive through campus to get to the parking lot. It is at LEAST a 5 minute wait by either of the traffic lights which leads you of the main road towards campus. Which means a pre-k group starts at LEAST 20 minutes late.
Today was no exception.
A few conscientious parents arrived VERY early; as much as 20 minutes early. Which means, by the time the show begins, these kids have been asked to sit still for FORTY MINUTES. Three and Four year olds are NOT thrilled by this.
Anyway, arriving at about 12:25 was SportDad, with his daughter. He was dressed all in black. SportDad was quite fit, I will give him that. How do I know he was so fit? Because SportDad was wearing all black SPANDEX. A Spandex unitard of some sort... kind of like a wrestler wears; a singlet. In public! To a Planetarium program! With his daughter!! And 59 of her closest four-year-old friends!!! Trust me, I know a lot more about his physique than I ever want to know.
He was walking down the hill as if he was wearing a three-piece suit -- not self-conscious at all that his entire body, including his franks and beans, was shrink-wrapped for all to see.
He came up, and in a dark, solid voice, greeted me, "Hey. How ya doin?"
I just stared at his face, hoping the lower part of my peripheral vision did not make it 'south of the border'. I managed to say absolutely nothing.
"Planetarium show?" he asked me. I just pointed to the open door.
"Cool." SportDad walked on in, young daughter in tow.
As he walked in the door, there was a mom with son in tow behind him. I was NOT looking that way, but as she followed him in, I heard her say to no one in particular, (but an obvious comment about the dismay of her current view of SportDad's tightly fitting wardrobe), "Well. I see he brought his ass."
I laughed and laughed.
After a little while, once it seemed that most of the people had made it there, I made my way into the dome. Everyone was sitting down. Except, of course, for SportDad. He was standing next to what I assume is the empty seat he has claimed for himself at the end of the row, with his arms crossed in front of himself, grinning like crazy. Try to imagine Mr. Clean, with a little bit of hair, wearing something that might as well be painted on.
I siad, "Well, we're ready to get started! Take your seats!" I should have said "Take your seat!" since there was only one person standing.
With some unexplainable grunting, SportDad sat down.
I drift around the room during a program. It adds a dynamic, keeps me interested, and an occassional bonus is that I scare the children. As I wandered around the room, I felt bad for the people who were sitting near SportDad. He had apparently come straight from his career as a professional wrestler, since he smelled like a gymnasium locker room. Which had been inhabited by monkeys. Not clean, deoderized monkeys, mind you, the unkempt, stinky kind. I didn't talk much when I was by him, because the stench was so strong, with your mouth open, I swear you could taste it.
At the end of the program, people were coming up and thanking me for a fun program. Of course all the parents decided that their kids loved it, and that they really want to have their birthday party there. (NO!! THAT WAS YOU!! NOT THE KID!! GO TO CHUCK E CHEESE!! PLEASE!)
SportDad came up to me and told me, "That was good. Thank you." And he thrust out a palm to be shaken.
I was expected to touch SportDad!! This was not in the job description! I would have remembered it: "...discussing the stars and planets with visiting school groups. Also, on occassion, you made need to press flesh against foul-smelling men who are only a technicality away from being naked."
I knew I couldn't just let him hang there; it's part of my job to be cordial to all types. I shook his hand, but oddly -- I sort of just pincered his hand between by thumb and pinky, and hardly touched him at all. I bobbed it up and down once, and let go, as if he had monkeypox. No other part of my hand made contact.
On the door of the Planetarium is a sign which states: "No food / No smoking in the Planetarium." I am thinking of adding "Also, at least 2 layers of clothes, and one layer of deoderant required."
I had a group of first- through third-grade special education kids yesterday. If you've read my special ed Blogs before, you know I like them a lot. I can usually count on some Blog fodder. Here's what I got from this group...
During the question and answer session, I had a litle girl ask, "Why is the sun?"
Hey, now -- this is a smidge too deep for me, especially for this group. It took me way off guard. I actually flinched my head and blinked my eyes as if I had almost been smacked. I hoped that the question was incomplete... I tried to get her to elaborate:
"Do you mean: 'Why is the sun so big?'" I asked her.
"No," she told me, in a complete matter-of-fact tone.
I looked at her quizzically with the hope that she would volunteer a modification to the original question, but, being a well-seasoned interpreter of the night skies, I really knew none was forthcoming.
"Do you mean: 'Why is the sun so hot?'" I tried.
"No," she repeated, without any inflection at all. I was hoping that it would have a "you're getting warmer/you're getting colder" feel to it, but there was nothing. I had no way to determine if I was any closer at all. Her tone was not rushed or annoyed -- she was patiently waiting for me to get around to it. I just had no idea how long that could take.
"Do you mean: 'Why is the sun in the middle of the solar system?'" I'm starting to sweat a little at this point.
"No," she said again in the exact same tone. She was just staring at me waiting for the answer, or at least for me understand this very simple question. How hard could it be? "Why is the sun?" It's only four words! I glanced to her teacher for some kind of help. I should know, being a well-seasoned interpreter of the night skies, that the teachers are rarely of any assistance. This one just shrugged and shook her head. I was, as usual, on my own.
"Do you mean:, *-gulp-*, 'Why is the sun there at all?'" I was worried this was it. I hoped it wasn't as tough as this. This is just pecking at the edges of philosophy and existence and truth, and I just didn't feel like drifting into that realm at this point.
"Sort of," she told me.
Sort of!? Uh oh.
I figured I'd give it a shot -- "Well, the sun, being the biggest thing in the solar system is the one thing that has the gravity to hold all the planets in their orbits. The sun is there so we can be here. And we are here because the sun is there." It had enough words to be satisfying, and it was vague enough to possibly answer the question! Brilliant! I almost did a little two-step, a bow, and said, "Tah dah!" knowing that this had to satisfy this little girl! Ah, I really felt like a well-seasoned interpreter of the night skies.
"Oh," she said. "But why is the sun?"
At this point I am lost. I wanted to say: "Look, kid, I got nothing. You're even freaking me out, just a little bit." You can't say that to a kid, though! Especially not a somewhere-around-second-grade special ed kid who has what she believes is an honest-to-goodness question.
Ummm... I tried: "Do you mean: 'Why is it called the sun?'"
"No," she said.
Let's try a different approach! Maybe I'm going about this all wrong! "What do you mean? I'm not sure I get what you're asking..." Duh! I should just ASK her for more info!
She just said each word slower. As if I was a moron. And I was starting to get that impression about myself: "Why. Is. The. Sun?"
"You know," I told her, shrugging a little bit, "I'm really not sure."
"Me neither," she said. And that was it. She was happy with that.
I should have come up with that answer three minutes before, being such a well-seasoned interpreter of the night skies.
I guess I still have some seasoning to go.
During the question and answer session, I had a litle girl ask, "Why is the sun?"
Hey, now -- this is a smidge too deep for me, especially for this group. It took me way off guard. I actually flinched my head and blinked my eyes as if I had almost been smacked. I hoped that the question was incomplete... I tried to get her to elaborate:
"Do you mean: 'Why is the sun so big?'" I asked her.
"No," she told me, in a complete matter-of-fact tone.
I looked at her quizzically with the hope that she would volunteer a modification to the original question, but, being a well-seasoned interpreter of the night skies, I really knew none was forthcoming.
"Do you mean: 'Why is the sun so hot?'" I tried.
"No," she repeated, without any inflection at all. I was hoping that it would have a "you're getting warmer/you're getting colder" feel to it, but there was nothing. I had no way to determine if I was any closer at all. Her tone was not rushed or annoyed -- she was patiently waiting for me to get around to it. I just had no idea how long that could take.
"Do you mean: 'Why is the sun in the middle of the solar system?'" I'm starting to sweat a little at this point.
"No," she said again in the exact same tone. She was just staring at me waiting for the answer, or at least for me understand this very simple question. How hard could it be? "Why is the sun?" It's only four words! I glanced to her teacher for some kind of help. I should know, being a well-seasoned interpreter of the night skies, that the teachers are rarely of any assistance. This one just shrugged and shook her head. I was, as usual, on my own.
"Do you mean:, *-gulp-*, 'Why is the sun there at all?'" I was worried this was it. I hoped it wasn't as tough as this. This is just pecking at the edges of philosophy and existence and truth, and I just didn't feel like drifting into that realm at this point.
"Sort of," she told me.
Sort of!? Uh oh.
I figured I'd give it a shot -- "Well, the sun, being the biggest thing in the solar system is the one thing that has the gravity to hold all the planets in their orbits. The sun is there so we can be here. And we are here because the sun is there." It had enough words to be satisfying, and it was vague enough to possibly answer the question! Brilliant! I almost did a little two-step, a bow, and said, "Tah dah!" knowing that this had to satisfy this little girl! Ah, I really felt like a well-seasoned interpreter of the night skies.
"Oh," she said. "But why is the sun?"
At this point I am lost. I wanted to say: "Look, kid, I got nothing. You're even freaking me out, just a little bit." You can't say that to a kid, though! Especially not a somewhere-around-second-grade special ed kid who has what she believes is an honest-to-goodness question.
Ummm... I tried: "Do you mean: 'Why is it called the sun?'"
"No," she said.
Let's try a different approach! Maybe I'm going about this all wrong! "What do you mean? I'm not sure I get what you're asking..." Duh! I should just ASK her for more info!
She just said each word slower. As if I was a moron. And I was starting to get that impression about myself: "Why. Is. The. Sun?"
"You know," I told her, shrugging a little bit, "I'm really not sure."
"Me neither," she said. And that was it. She was happy with that.
I should have come up with that answer three minutes before, being such a well-seasoned interpreter of the night skies.
I guess I still have some seasoning to go.
It's been a little while since I've updated this. Basically it's been busy with shows.... none of them much to Blog about. They were pleasant, but nothing exciting.
I had one show that was cause for a little Blog. It was for third graders. They have a tendency towards the immature, seeing as then are eight years old for the most part. You can kind of excuse it. But once somebody says something that they think is funny, it always goes downhill.
We were watching a rocket launch... 3rd graders are always happy to do a nice countdown, as appropriate. I encouraged them, and we went along with...
"3!...."
"2!...."
"1!...."
"...BLAST OFF!!"
They usually stop there and watch the rest of the program. One of the kids decided to add in the very informative...
"...It's farting!!"
A comment about flatulation never means the show is going well. This one was going quite well until then.
After that, everything was "farting". The stages of the rocket proceeded -- when the jets fly off the side "they're farting!" When the lander hits the Martian atmosphere "it's farting!" When the airbag cushions get deployed "they're farting!" When the lander hits the ground "it's farting!"
I mean, I'm as much a fan of laughing at cheese-cutting as the next guy, but this had gotten out of hand. I told them, "Eright, quit it with the farting."
And the amazing thing is: they did. That was it! No more discussion of farts! Woo hoo! Is it really that easy? Unbelieveable.
And they were good for the rest of the show.
If just telling them to stop works all the time, this could be the end of this blog as we know it.
Ahhh, who am I kidding... we all know:
(a) I'll put up with a lot before I open my big mouth
(b) this was a lucky time -- they will usually just ignore me and continue being annoying, and
(c) this stuff is too funny to bother to try and stop it.
I had one show that was cause for a little Blog. It was for third graders. They have a tendency towards the immature, seeing as then are eight years old for the most part. You can kind of excuse it. But once somebody says something that they think is funny, it always goes downhill.
We were watching a rocket launch... 3rd graders are always happy to do a nice countdown, as appropriate. I encouraged them, and we went along with...
"3!...."
"2!...."
"1!...."
"...BLAST OFF!!"
They usually stop there and watch the rest of the program. One of the kids decided to add in the very informative...
"...It's farting!!"
A comment about flatulation never means the show is going well. This one was going quite well until then.
After that, everything was "farting". The stages of the rocket proceeded -- when the jets fly off the side "they're farting!" When the lander hits the Martian atmosphere "it's farting!" When the airbag cushions get deployed "they're farting!" When the lander hits the ground "it's farting!"
I mean, I'm as much a fan of laughing at cheese-cutting as the next guy, but this had gotten out of hand. I told them, "Eright, quit it with the farting."
And the amazing thing is: they did. That was it! No more discussion of farts! Woo hoo! Is it really that easy? Unbelieveable.
And they were good for the rest of the show.
If just telling them to stop works all the time, this could be the end of this blog as we know it.
Ahhh, who am I kidding... we all know:
(a) I'll put up with a lot before I open my big mouth
(b) this was a lucky time -- they will usually just ignore me and continue being annoying, and
(c) this stuff is too funny to bother to try and stop it.
Thursday, June 05, 2003
Today I had a group of 15 eighth grade special education students. There are many calssifications of special ed, but usually they are kind of fun and interesting; their interest is genuine, and their questions are original. This was a very good, very interested group. They had a lot of questions, and I got to field some during the show. It's kind of hard to do that, but these kids were quite impatient. Not in an annoying way, just eager, really. It was obvious that they had studied space recently, and to some extent.
At the end, during the 'official' question and answer period, I had one kid ask, "What are the different ways you can die in space?"
Oh, no. This never leads to anything good.
I told him, "That's kind of a gruesome question. Space is, indeed, a dangerous place." I hoped that would satisfy him.
"I know that," he told me, "but I was just wondering how dangerous."
"It's very dangerous," I vaguely explained, hoping that the question would die here, knowing full welll that it would not.
"I'm just asking because I was thinking about becoming an astronaut, and I wondered how many different ways I could be killed," he calmly explained.
"Ummm. Well, you do have to be very brave and daring to go to space. But I'm not sure we should discuss the ways you could die..."
Another kid's eyes lit up, and he blurted out: "A meteor! You could get hit with a meteor!"
I looked around the room. All the kids were thinking about this. They were totally engaged in this macabre subject.
As a teacher, this is a terrible, terrible place to be. They are thinking! They are mulling over topics... they are poring over the possibilities. Generally, though, you would like it to be in a slightly more constructive topic that one which includes "ways to die". But they were thinking, so I really didn't do anything to stop it. I glanced at the two teachers who came with them, with a look of fear and concern, hoping they might want to divert the discussion. They just shrugged, as if to say, "This is what they want to talk about; I dare you to try and stop them," so I let them go.
"Ooh! You could crash!" another kid said.
"Air! You need air! You could run out of air!" still another realized.
"You could run out of gas, and be stuck up in space!" one chimed in.
"That's the same as running out of air!" the previous kid told him. "If you can't come back, eventually you will run out of air and you'd die."
Wow! They were considering, revising, and condensing the scenarios. I was pleased, actually. Slightly disturbed, but also pleased.
"Well, maybe the food goes bad before the air. You could die from food poisoning."
I hadn't thought of that! Wow!
"Or, the other astronaut could go crazy and kill you."
Yipes. At this point I just sat down in one of the empty seats near one of the teachers and let them go at it. "Do they do this a lot?" I whispered to her.
"Pretty much," she told me.
And away they went.
"You could crash into another rocket ship that was up there!"
"You could choke on that dry astronaut ice cream that they eat!"
"If the heater breaks you could freeze to death," one said. His face kind of got thoughtful for a second. He turned to me and asked quickly, "Waitaminute. Is it cold in space?"
I told him that it is quite cold in the emptiness of space. He nodded, and repeated, word-for-word: "If the heater breaks you could freeze to death!"
Another kid told us, "Or, the heater could break the other way and you would burn up!"
"Like crashing into the sun," one of them muttered. Then he gasped and his eyes flew wide open, as he realized that this was another possibility, "Ooh! You could crash into the sun!"
This went on for a number of minutes. I finally told them that I had to get ready for the next show, and they started packing up to go.
I reminded them that the astronauts were very brave people who we should be proud of, and that the dangers they face are very real. They seemed to honestly consider this.
As they filed out, each one of them shook my hand and thanked me for a nice time. The last one out was the kid who had originally asked the question about dying in space. He told me, "You know, I don't think I'm going to become an astronaut."
At the end, during the 'official' question and answer period, I had one kid ask, "What are the different ways you can die in space?"
Oh, no. This never leads to anything good.
I told him, "That's kind of a gruesome question. Space is, indeed, a dangerous place." I hoped that would satisfy him.
"I know that," he told me, "but I was just wondering how dangerous."
"It's very dangerous," I vaguely explained, hoping that the question would die here, knowing full welll that it would not.
"I'm just asking because I was thinking about becoming an astronaut, and I wondered how many different ways I could be killed," he calmly explained.
"Ummm. Well, you do have to be very brave and daring to go to space. But I'm not sure we should discuss the ways you could die..."
Another kid's eyes lit up, and he blurted out: "A meteor! You could get hit with a meteor!"
I looked around the room. All the kids were thinking about this. They were totally engaged in this macabre subject.
As a teacher, this is a terrible, terrible place to be. They are thinking! They are mulling over topics... they are poring over the possibilities. Generally, though, you would like it to be in a slightly more constructive topic that one which includes "ways to die". But they were thinking, so I really didn't do anything to stop it. I glanced at the two teachers who came with them, with a look of fear and concern, hoping they might want to divert the discussion. They just shrugged, as if to say, "This is what they want to talk about; I dare you to try and stop them," so I let them go.
"Ooh! You could crash!" another kid said.
"Air! You need air! You could run out of air!" still another realized.
"You could run out of gas, and be stuck up in space!" one chimed in.
"That's the same as running out of air!" the previous kid told him. "If you can't come back, eventually you will run out of air and you'd die."
Wow! They were considering, revising, and condensing the scenarios. I was pleased, actually. Slightly disturbed, but also pleased.
"Well, maybe the food goes bad before the air. You could die from food poisoning."
I hadn't thought of that! Wow!
"Or, the other astronaut could go crazy and kill you."
Yipes. At this point I just sat down in one of the empty seats near one of the teachers and let them go at it. "Do they do this a lot?" I whispered to her.
"Pretty much," she told me.
And away they went.
"You could crash into another rocket ship that was up there!"
"You could choke on that dry astronaut ice cream that they eat!"
"If the heater breaks you could freeze to death," one said. His face kind of got thoughtful for a second. He turned to me and asked quickly, "Waitaminute. Is it cold in space?"
I told him that it is quite cold in the emptiness of space. He nodded, and repeated, word-for-word: "If the heater breaks you could freeze to death!"
Another kid told us, "Or, the heater could break the other way and you would burn up!"
"Like crashing into the sun," one of them muttered. Then he gasped and his eyes flew wide open, as he realized that this was another possibility, "Ooh! You could crash into the sun!"
This went on for a number of minutes. I finally told them that I had to get ready for the next show, and they started packing up to go.
I reminded them that the astronauts were very brave people who we should be proud of, and that the dangers they face are very real. They seemed to honestly consider this.
As they filed out, each one of them shook my hand and thanked me for a nice time. The last one out was the kid who had originally asked the question about dying in space. He told me, "You know, I don't think I'm going to become an astronaut."
Wednesday, June 04, 2003
I had a group of third graders today. They were a pretty good group, really, but one fellow was stuck on a theme. Let me explain...
When a typical program begins, I start talking as the lights are going down, very gently, almost imperceptibly. The stars appear very slowly. You can try to catch them as they appear, but all of a sudden you just find that there is one where there wasn't one before. You don't actually notice the transition between not being there and being there. It's all rather nifty and magical and exciting (I'm bragging about the machine, not anything I'M doing). This group was in a little bit of a hurry, so I was turning the lights down a little faster than normal, so the approaching darkness was quite perceptible. I didn't warn them that the lights were about to go down. As soon as they noticed it getting dark quickly, one kid opened his eyes wide, leaned back and said, "Houston, we have a problem."
I thought that was a little clever and kind of funny, actually. A bunch of kids, and myself, chuckled, and we moved on.
I talked about the North Star, and put on a picture of the Little Dipper, and this kid said, "Houston, we have a dipper."
Also, I found that a little bit funny. I figured he just thought of it after using the other line (it was only a minute or two later), and decided to throw it out there.
Draco is the next constellation on the menu, and as soon as the picture came up, he said, "Houston, we have a dragon."
OK, I know that anyone reading this Blog thinks that I have no disciplinary skills of any kind. Sure, sometimes I let the craziest stuff go on. But, seriously, I will give them a good talking to when appropriate, and have even been known to stop the program and bring the lights on in order to curtail the misbehaving. I've snuck up behind kids and whispered threats at them that no one else could hear. I have even sat on a talkative kid now and again.
I actually considered giving this kid a little constructive criticism, but I was also a little curious. I wondered how long he could keep this up...
...I was not disappointed.
When Leo came up: "Houston, we have a lion."
When Mercury, generally the first planet I show, came up: "Houston, we have a planet."
When I discussed the fact that the temperature on Venus hangs out at just under 900 degrees Fahrenheit: "Houston, we have a hot one."
During the Mars Exploration Rover mission video, he had a few that I heard, and probably others that I didn't:
"Houston, we have a rocket."
"Houston, we have re-entry." (one of my favorites!)
When the spacecraft bounced down on Mars in the video, he re-used "Houston, we have a problem." I figured he was running out of new stuff by that point. Oh, I was sadly mistaken.
When the landing module opened up, and the little rover emerged: "Houston, we have a robot."
When Jupiter appeared, "Houston, we have a big one."
When Saturn appeared: "Houston, we have some rings."
When I showed Uranus: "Houston, we have Uranus." (even though it was not very subtle, you really can't ever go wrong with a Uranus joke.)
There were a couple others in there that I don't recall.
As the lights were coming up at the end, I usually sum up. This was no exception. I told them that I was going to review as the lights came up. I listed out all the things we did, and just as I had recapped nearly everything, my buddy in this show said, "Houston, we're almost done."
I was right next to him as he said it. I have no idea why my attitude changed at this time, after bearing it the entire show, but I turned leaned down next to him and whispered, "So are you if you don't shut up." I wasn't really mad. I even really meant it as a joke, sort of. But his eyes just got real wide, and he leaned way back in his chair.
I stood up and asked, "Are there any questions?"
I looked at the 'Houston' kid. His eyes were open wide, and he had his mouth pinched tight and was shaking his head "No!" rather quickly.
Houston, we shut him up.
When a typical program begins, I start talking as the lights are going down, very gently, almost imperceptibly. The stars appear very slowly. You can try to catch them as they appear, but all of a sudden you just find that there is one where there wasn't one before. You don't actually notice the transition between not being there and being there. It's all rather nifty and magical and exciting (I'm bragging about the machine, not anything I'M doing). This group was in a little bit of a hurry, so I was turning the lights down a little faster than normal, so the approaching darkness was quite perceptible. I didn't warn them that the lights were about to go down. As soon as they noticed it getting dark quickly, one kid opened his eyes wide, leaned back and said, "Houston, we have a problem."
I thought that was a little clever and kind of funny, actually. A bunch of kids, and myself, chuckled, and we moved on.
I talked about the North Star, and put on a picture of the Little Dipper, and this kid said, "Houston, we have a dipper."
Also, I found that a little bit funny. I figured he just thought of it after using the other line (it was only a minute or two later), and decided to throw it out there.
Draco is the next constellation on the menu, and as soon as the picture came up, he said, "Houston, we have a dragon."
OK, I know that anyone reading this Blog thinks that I have no disciplinary skills of any kind. Sure, sometimes I let the craziest stuff go on. But, seriously, I will give them a good talking to when appropriate, and have even been known to stop the program and bring the lights on in order to curtail the misbehaving. I've snuck up behind kids and whispered threats at them that no one else could hear. I have even sat on a talkative kid now and again.
I actually considered giving this kid a little constructive criticism, but I was also a little curious. I wondered how long he could keep this up...
...I was not disappointed.
When Leo came up: "Houston, we have a lion."
When Mercury, generally the first planet I show, came up: "Houston, we have a planet."
When I discussed the fact that the temperature on Venus hangs out at just under 900 degrees Fahrenheit: "Houston, we have a hot one."
During the Mars Exploration Rover mission video, he had a few that I heard, and probably others that I didn't:
"Houston, we have a rocket."
"Houston, we have re-entry." (one of my favorites!)
When the spacecraft bounced down on Mars in the video, he re-used "Houston, we have a problem." I figured he was running out of new stuff by that point. Oh, I was sadly mistaken.
When the landing module opened up, and the little rover emerged: "Houston, we have a robot."
When Jupiter appeared, "Houston, we have a big one."
When Saturn appeared: "Houston, we have some rings."
When I showed Uranus: "Houston, we have Uranus." (even though it was not very subtle, you really can't ever go wrong with a Uranus joke.)
There were a couple others in there that I don't recall.
As the lights were coming up at the end, I usually sum up. This was no exception. I told them that I was going to review as the lights came up. I listed out all the things we did, and just as I had recapped nearly everything, my buddy in this show said, "Houston, we're almost done."
I was right next to him as he said it. I have no idea why my attitude changed at this time, after bearing it the entire show, but I turned leaned down next to him and whispered, "So are you if you don't shut up." I wasn't really mad. I even really meant it as a joke, sort of. But his eyes just got real wide, and he leaned way back in his chair.
I stood up and asked, "Are there any questions?"
I looked at the 'Houston' kid. His eyes were open wide, and he had his mouth pinched tight and was shaking his head "No!" rather quickly.
Houston, we shut him up.
Another adult was giving me some serious grief. This group was a full house. It was 3 fifth grade classes, accompanied by their 3 teachers. There were 77 students and 3 adults. Every seat was full.
There was one teacher who was Little Miss Super Astronomer. She came in and started telling me all the things she's taught them about space! She was very excited! She told me about how they have been doing research and found that we've recently discovered that Jupiter has 28 moons , finally surpassing the 18 count of the moons of Saturn. She asked what we are going to cover, and I give her a quick overview. I mentioned that I will mention the Mars Exploration Rover, and she said "OOH! OOH! That launched this morning!!" That sounded a bit strange; I had been following the schedule for a while, and I thought it was supposed to go on June 8th (5 days from then), but schedules change. And I didn't want to be an ass and just tell her to her face that she is wrong, especially since she might not have been.
The Jupiter count is sadly out of date -- we keep flipping the number around 60, as of the writing of this, we have the count at 61, though the number HAS been changing a lot.
The Saturn count was possibly even WORSE out of date -- the count is sitting around 31.
Regarding the Mars mission, it turns out she was kind of right. It was Mars Express, launched by the European Space Agency.
Anyway, she was chattering on like a precocious second grader, and finally I told her that I needed to begin, so she found the last seat available, and sat back to watch the show.
Little did I know, the nightmare was only about to begin.
I will, from now on, keep some large game tranquilizers on hand for a situation like this.
Nearly everything I said was followed up by (or even sometimes preceded by) her shouting out a question to the students. It was, aside from a mid-show cellular phone conversation, or intentional mid-show flatulation, the rudest thing I ever imagined.
I put a picture of Mercury on the dome. "This is the planet Mercury..."
"What do you think those circles are all over it?!" she interruptedly screamed. She was referring to the craters which cover Mercury.
"Craters." a few kids non-committally responded.
I was totally shaken. She just completely interrupted and took over. I just stood for a second, mouth agape. I went back into the program...
"Right," I continued, "there are craters on Mercury, much like the moon..."
"What else about Mercury do you think is like the moon?!?" she belts out.
Ohmigod! She did it again!
She kept doing it, too.
I put on a picture of Mars. Before I could say anything she squeals out, "What do you think the white spot on the top is?!?" She was referring to the polar ice cap.
Apparently the kids had gotten tired of her by this time of the school year. A few would answer her shrieking questions, but mostly it was done with a sigh that sounded like the kid was just answering to shut her up. It was as if they knew she would keep squawking if someone didn't answer.
I have the planets all hooked up to individual projectors, except for Uranus, Neptune and Pluto. I usually go over those together, as the three that are not really visible with the naked eye -- you need a decent telescope to see any of them. So, I got done discussing Saturn and moved onto those most distant planets -- I turned the switch and all three planets came on at once. Before I got to discussing them, the shrill, grating voice erupted with "What do you think that little one on the end is?!?!"
One kid yelled out, "What do you think the astronomer thinks about you interrupting every 10 seconds?!"
It was beautiful. My heart welled up with affection. A 10 year-old kid came out with that! I was so proud. Nearly tearing up, I said, "Actually, I don't like it very much at all."
And, for the rest of the show, the teacher only screamed out questions about half as often as before.
There was one teacher who was Little Miss Super Astronomer. She came in and started telling me all the things she's taught them about space! She was very excited! She told me about how they have been doing research and found that we've recently discovered that Jupiter has 28 moons , finally surpassing the 18 count of the moons of Saturn. She asked what we are going to cover, and I give her a quick overview. I mentioned that I will mention the Mars Exploration Rover, and she said "OOH! OOH! That launched this morning!!" That sounded a bit strange; I had been following the schedule for a while, and I thought it was supposed to go on June 8th (5 days from then), but schedules change. And I didn't want to be an ass and just tell her to her face that she is wrong, especially since she might not have been.
The Jupiter count is sadly out of date -- we keep flipping the number around 60, as of the writing of this, we have the count at 61, though the number HAS been changing a lot.
The Saturn count was possibly even WORSE out of date -- the count is sitting around 31.
Regarding the Mars mission, it turns out she was kind of right. It was Mars Express, launched by the European Space Agency.
Anyway, she was chattering on like a precocious second grader, and finally I told her that I needed to begin, so she found the last seat available, and sat back to watch the show.
Little did I know, the nightmare was only about to begin.
I will, from now on, keep some large game tranquilizers on hand for a situation like this.
Nearly everything I said was followed up by (or even sometimes preceded by) her shouting out a question to the students. It was, aside from a mid-show cellular phone conversation, or intentional mid-show flatulation, the rudest thing I ever imagined.
I put a picture of Mercury on the dome. "This is the planet Mercury..."
"What do you think those circles are all over it?!" she interruptedly screamed. She was referring to the craters which cover Mercury.
"Craters." a few kids non-committally responded.
I was totally shaken. She just completely interrupted and took over. I just stood for a second, mouth agape. I went back into the program...
"Right," I continued, "there are craters on Mercury, much like the moon..."
"What else about Mercury do you think is like the moon?!?" she belts out.
Ohmigod! She did it again!
She kept doing it, too.
I put on a picture of Mars. Before I could say anything she squeals out, "What do you think the white spot on the top is?!?" She was referring to the polar ice cap.
Apparently the kids had gotten tired of her by this time of the school year. A few would answer her shrieking questions, but mostly it was done with a sigh that sounded like the kid was just answering to shut her up. It was as if they knew she would keep squawking if someone didn't answer.
I have the planets all hooked up to individual projectors, except for Uranus, Neptune and Pluto. I usually go over those together, as the three that are not really visible with the naked eye -- you need a decent telescope to see any of them. So, I got done discussing Saturn and moved onto those most distant planets -- I turned the switch and all three planets came on at once. Before I got to discussing them, the shrill, grating voice erupted with "What do you think that little one on the end is?!?!"
One kid yelled out, "What do you think the astronomer thinks about you interrupting every 10 seconds?!"
It was beautiful. My heart welled up with affection. A 10 year-old kid came out with that! I was so proud. Nearly tearing up, I said, "Actually, I don't like it very much at all."
And, for the rest of the show, the teacher only screamed out questions about half as often as before.
I'm back after a little-over-a-week break! Whoof, it is quite hard to get back into a full day of programs after having so much time without. I thought I was going to pass out. My voice gave out at the beginning of show number 3, so that was kind of fun. When I put on a short video in the middle of the program, I rushed across to my office and grabbed a cup of coffee to soothe my throat. It worked. A little.
Anyway, yesterday, the kids were really quite good. Unbelievably good for a nursery school, 3rd grade, and then a 4th grade.
The adults, however, were something to Blog about.
The Nursery School group had 33 kids, and 27 adults, so all of the kids were sitting next to an adult on one side or the other. This is a good thing for 3 to 5 year olds. Sometimes they get scared (and sometimes the adults scare them. There is an earlier Blog about that). There was one mom sitting right next to the control panel who said "Oh my goodness!" after nearly everything I said. She had a very high pitched, breathy, 1950's TV sitcom-mom sort of voice. Imagine June Cleaver walking into the living room to discover The Beav making out with a prostitute. You can see it -- Fingertips to her upper chest, eyes wide, mouth in an "O" as if she were about to beginning Christmas carolling, and gasping out "Oh my goodness!"
The woman in this Planetarium program said it for just about anything...
I would go over the constellations, "...and the North Star is at the end of the handle of the constellation we often, nowadays, refer to as 'The Little Dipper'." [a picture of the Little Dipper appears, overlaying the stars.]
"Oh my goodness!"
I figured that she had just never been to a Planetarium before. Maybe she didn't expect a picture to emerge. Maybe she didn't think that a picture was actually being projected; perhaps she thought that she understood the shape so well, that the image simply appeared in her brain. The kids were semi-impressed, but this lady was blown away.
I went on to discuss the usual suspects up there in the sky. Each slide produced a gasping, "Oh my goodness!" None of them were less enthusiastic than the previous. If anything, her exclamations became more intense as the show progressed.
When the computer-generated video of the Mars Exploration Rover appeared, for seven minutes straight, she just went "Oh my goodness!" About halfway through, I leaned down and asked "Is everything OK?"
She just turned to me with pie-plate eyes and nodded her head. Her face was a mixture of awe, excitement and fear, as if she had just exited an extraordinarily frightening roller coaster.
When I turned on the daily motion -- the classic spinning of the sky in a Planetarium, when it feels like you're moving -- she started a rapid fire "Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness!"
I told the crowd, "If you feel dizzy, you can always close your eyes. The only thing moving is the machine in the middle. We are not actually moving. It's just an optical illusion."
The voice next to me sounded muted all of a sudden, but it didn't slow down at all. I look next to me, and the woman has both hands clamped over her eyes, so she can't see anything at all, but she's still chanting away! "Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness!"
When the lights came up, I saw the woman herding the two children out of the room. Her legs were obviously shaky. One kid held each hand, and it was almost as if they were escorting her.
I wanted to ask her what she thought of the program, but I'm pretty sure I know what she would have said...
Anyway, yesterday, the kids were really quite good. Unbelievably good for a nursery school, 3rd grade, and then a 4th grade.
The adults, however, were something to Blog about.
The Nursery School group had 33 kids, and 27 adults, so all of the kids were sitting next to an adult on one side or the other. This is a good thing for 3 to 5 year olds. Sometimes they get scared (and sometimes the adults scare them. There is an earlier Blog about that). There was one mom sitting right next to the control panel who said "Oh my goodness!" after nearly everything I said. She had a very high pitched, breathy, 1950's TV sitcom-mom sort of voice. Imagine June Cleaver walking into the living room to discover The Beav making out with a prostitute. You can see it -- Fingertips to her upper chest, eyes wide, mouth in an "O" as if she were about to beginning Christmas carolling, and gasping out "Oh my goodness!"
The woman in this Planetarium program said it for just about anything...
I would go over the constellations, "...and the North Star is at the end of the handle of the constellation we often, nowadays, refer to as 'The Little Dipper'." [a picture of the Little Dipper appears, overlaying the stars.]
"Oh my goodness!"
I figured that she had just never been to a Planetarium before. Maybe she didn't expect a picture to emerge. Maybe she didn't think that a picture was actually being projected; perhaps she thought that she understood the shape so well, that the image simply appeared in her brain. The kids were semi-impressed, but this lady was blown away.
I went on to discuss the usual suspects up there in the sky. Each slide produced a gasping, "Oh my goodness!" None of them were less enthusiastic than the previous. If anything, her exclamations became more intense as the show progressed.
When the computer-generated video of the Mars Exploration Rover appeared, for seven minutes straight, she just went "Oh my goodness!" About halfway through, I leaned down and asked "Is everything OK?"
She just turned to me with pie-plate eyes and nodded her head. Her face was a mixture of awe, excitement and fear, as if she had just exited an extraordinarily frightening roller coaster.
When I turned on the daily motion -- the classic spinning of the sky in a Planetarium, when it feels like you're moving -- she started a rapid fire "Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness!"
I told the crowd, "If you feel dizzy, you can always close your eyes. The only thing moving is the machine in the middle. We are not actually moving. It's just an optical illusion."
The voice next to me sounded muted all of a sudden, but it didn't slow down at all. I look next to me, and the woman has both hands clamped over her eyes, so she can't see anything at all, but she's still chanting away! "Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness! Ohmygoodness!"
When the lights came up, I saw the woman herding the two children out of the room. Her legs were obviously shaky. One kid held each hand, and it was almost as if they were escorting her.
I wanted to ask her what she thought of the program, but I'm pretty sure I know what she would have said...