I don't want to get all unmanly here...
When I was in 4th grade I was taking reading class with the 5th grade because: nerd.
We were doing one of those "work at your own pace" sections with like 25 workbooks that you had to read and fill out and all whatnot. After day 1 the teacher added the new rule: You can only do at most one book per day (see "nerd," above).
Every day for the next five weeks I'd finish the day's workbook in 10-15 minutes and then go to the back of the classroom and pluck out the 'S' volume of the encyclopedia. The second 'S' volume, actually. S had a lot of stuff. The second 'S' volume contained SPACE and SPACE EXPLORATION and SPACE PROGRAM.
Every day I'd finish the new reading book in 15 minutes and go reread the same articles in the encyclopedia. I memorized facts and details about the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo programs; I learned about Gus Grissom's awful death in the fire in Apollo 1. I learned about NASA's grand plans for a manned mission to Mars, including whipping a ship around the Moon to accelerate it out there.
Most important were Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins. (Everybody forgets poor Michael Collins. Poor bastard. Flew half a million miles but never did set foot on the moon.)
I wanted to be them. I wanted to be them so badly. It didn't work out; it couldn't possibly have worked out; but I didn't know that. I was 9.
Look around you. The kids who built the Internet, the kids who built Curiosity, and everybody in between. Hundreds of thousands of them felt the same way I did.
It should not surprise me that it hit me so hard. We were at an outlet mall this afternoon when, bored, I checked Twitter. I was already off to one side of the sidewalk and sort of leaned back and plopped down to the ground when I saw the news. I didn't expect tears but well sometimes they come honestly.
We were doing one of those "work at your own pace" sections with like 25 workbooks that you had to read and fill out and all whatnot. After day 1 the teacher added the new rule: You can only do at most one book per day (see "nerd," above).
Every day for the next five weeks I'd finish the day's workbook in 10-15 minutes and then go to the back of the classroom and pluck out the 'S' volume of the encyclopedia. The second 'S' volume, actually. S had a lot of stuff. The second 'S' volume contained SPACE and SPACE EXPLORATION and SPACE PROGRAM.
Every day I'd finish the new reading book in 15 minutes and go reread the same articles in the encyclopedia. I memorized facts and details about the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo programs; I learned about Gus Grissom's awful death in the fire in Apollo 1. I learned about NASA's grand plans for a manned mission to Mars, including whipping a ship around the Moon to accelerate it out there.
Most important were Armstrong, Aldrin, and Collins. (Everybody forgets poor Michael Collins. Poor bastard. Flew half a million miles but never did set foot on the moon.)
I wanted to be them. I wanted to be them so badly. It didn't work out; it couldn't possibly have worked out; but I didn't know that. I was 9.
Look around you. The kids who built the Internet, the kids who built Curiosity, and everybody in between. Hundreds of thousands of them felt the same way I did.
It should not surprise me that it hit me so hard. We were at an outlet mall this afternoon when, bored, I checked Twitter. I was already off to one side of the sidewalk and sort of leaned back and plopped down to the ground when I saw the news. I didn't expect tears but well sometimes they come honestly.