Show Your Children the Starts: They Will Remember.

AT 2145 (9:45 pm for those of you who prefer a 12-hour clock) I rushed outside in my house shoes, pajamas, and an overcoat. I ran along the length of my apartment building in the dark, cool grass brushing against my feet and the hem of my pants, staring eastward. The light pollution in Huntsville is terrible; it’s so bright the birds don’t sleep at night. When I reached the edge of the building I climbed up the hill a short way, my eyes fixed on the eastern glow over the roof of the apartment building across from mine. A bright white light flashed across my vision, accompanied by the delayed sound of a jet heading for Huntsville international Airport. It momentarily dazzled my already fragile vision. I closed my eyes for several seconds, then opened them again and stared at the faint pink haze juxtaposed over the night sky.

It was always colder in Oregon, and I usually didn’t have on more than a giant t-shirt or night dress. No Alabama humidity to keep things at a balmy 70 degrees like it is tonight. My father lifted me in his arms and pointed in the direction I needed to look. I remember the sky being much blacker in Salem than in Huntsville, but I lived a little ways out of the city, in a quiet suburb, not in a thriving metropolitan neighborhood like I do now. I remember the sound of crickets more than the sound of jet airplanes. My sister and I took turns on Dad’s shoulders. Tonight I was alone. I don’t remember what it was that Dad wanted me to see, or how many times he took us out on the back porch for an astronomy sighting of some kind, but tonight I was looking for a total lunar eclipse: Supermoon 2015!

It was overcast. I saw nothing but Huntsville’s brilliant streetlights and rocket-top warning lights glancing off the thick layer of cloud blanketing North Alabama. Some things don’t change, though. I couldn’t see what Dad pointed out to me, either. I’m legally blind, and the only time I’ve ever seen a star was thorugh a powerful telescope at the Pine Mountain Observatory in eastern Oregon. Sometimes I pretended I could see what he showed me, though, because I wanted him to keep telling me about it. Another thing that hasn’t changed is my excitement, the anticipation as I ran outside to look even though I knew I probably wouldn’t see anything.

Then I ran back inside and googled “total lunar eclipse live feed.” After sorting through the initial top few links—slow-loading news outlets—I finally logged onto nasa.gov and found a live feed of the lunar eclipse. I got to see it after all! Incidentally, Dad was the one who taught me to use a computer.