[meteorite-list] Back to Earth...

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From: STUARTATK_at_aol.com <STUARTATK_at_meteoritecentral.com>
Date: Thu Apr 22 10:27:50 2004
Message-ID: <12c.35570c53.2ce8923d_at_aol.com>

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Hi all,

I've enjoyed the Proud Tom saga as much as anyone... some might say there was
an element of natural justice there... but yes, it's time to move on.
Besides, I'm sure that like our very own King Arthur, Proud Tom will rise again when
his people truly need him... ;-)

Just thought that some of you might like to hear about my latest
meteorite-related Outreach experience in schools. Warning tho: this one is a bit of a
"Little House On The Prairie" heart-string plucker, but it did give me a jolt and
made me realise how lucky we all are to have what we have, and do what we do.

I visited a junior (that's ages 5 - 11 yrs) school on Friday, to talk to a
group of 80 or so kids, three classes combined, about the solar system, our
place in the universe and, of course, aliens. All kids want to hear about aliens,
it's a - pardon the pun - universal fascination with them. Some are a bit
disappointed when I tell them that no, aliens won't invade the Earth ("Awwww! That
would be cool!" Er, no, it wouldn't actually...!) and that any aliens we find
on Mars are likely to resemble flecks of green paint or the kind of gloop you
sneeze into a hanky during a heavy cold, but others... well, their eyes light
up as they sense, possibly for the first time, just how amazing a place the
universe is and how we fit into it. And when they hold the little box with its
flecks of Zagami dust in it, at the same time as looking at a picture of Mars'
surface on the screen, well, the ones that "get it" will never lose it. It's
like rubbing two sticks together to start a fire, just the most wonderful
feeling to stand there, in front of a group of kids, and make eye contact with one
and see the kindling of their imaginations and potential beginning to smoke.
Forget drugs, go do that in a school. You'll be high for days, I promise.

But I digress... as usual, sorry! I got to the school and set-up as quickly
as I could, "helped" (i.e. being constantly interrupted and quizzed by) a
dozen or so of the keenest kids who had been looking forward to the visit. Then
they vanished, but I got that feeling, that tingle, that tole me that it was
going to be a great day.

Then Russell arrived. Russell was 8 yrs old, and is very lucky to be here.
He's just come back to school after missing over a year fighting leukemia, and
he is still a very sick little boy, but over the worst. The teacher brought him
in in his wheelchair, ahead of all the other kids, and put him on the side,
out of the way - not unfeelingly, just because the other kids would have to get
in thru the narrow doorway. But Russell wasn't having any of that, he wanted
frint and centre, so, ignoring the teacher's offer of help, he walked his way
over to the seat nearest the projector on the very frint row, and sat down in
it, gasping for breath with the effort.The poor little guy is still bloated
from all the drugs, and constanly nauseous, and the teacher explained that she
had wanted him near the door so that she could take him out when - not iof, but
when - he needed to be sick, so she was sorry if his departure would cause
much disruption when it happened. Not a problem, I assured her, and Russell sent
me a big smile in reply. We had a chat - as much of a chat as we could,
anyway - and then the rest of the kids came in. And they all milled around him,
talking to him, making sure he was comfortable and ok, which was a delight to
witness. So I had a bit of a lump in my throat as I started The Tour, but it
didn't last long. I told them what they'd be seeing thru the talk, where they'd be
"taken" and how they'd all get to hold a real meteorite before they went
home. That brought several gasps and "wow!"s. Gotcha, I thought.

It was one of those (sadly rare!) occasions when everything I wanted to say
came out just right, and the whole thing flowed smoothly. The kids loved the
slides, especially the ones of Mars, and when I bounced a kid across the room to
show them what walking on Mars in reduced G would be like they laughed so
hard I thought the roof would come off. Russell smiled silently, but I could hear
it anyway.

Then I launched into my "Sermon" section, showing artwork of astronauts on
Mars, looking for fossils, and exploring, and a "wow" hush descended on the
room. Then my "killer slide" - an artist's impression of an astronaut, standing on
Mars at sunset, watching Earth shining in the dusk like a bright blue-white
star. I explained how, just as we saw Mars so clearly back in August, Earth can
be seen from Mars... and if they all worked hard at school, and later at
University or college, and set their minds and hearts to it, any of them, ANY of
them, boy or girl, it makes no difference now, could go to Mars in the future
and see the scene on the slide for real.

Russell looked at me, and put a hand on his chest, eyes widening just a
little.

"Yes," I said, looking right at him, "ANY of you."

And universe help me did he smile then - not broadly, just gently. I'm not
even going to try to explain how that felt, but I think you can imagine for
yourselves anyway.

Maybe he will make it, maybe he won't, I can't influence or even guess that.
But I know that as he sat there at that moment he believed he could, and that
was good enough for me, you know?

Anyway, all my space cadets then started on the final leg of the journey - a
"zoom out" from the Sun to see where we fit into the scale of the Universe,
how the Milky Way is just one galaxy among trillions, how the galaxies fill the
universe like snoiwflakes in a blizzard, and eyes widened like plates the
further we got from the Sun...

But it was too much for Russell, he couldn't hang on any longer and told the
teacher he had to go and be sick. So we stopped to let him out, all the kids
wearing worried expressions as he was wheeled out, and after that it went a
little flat. But a few minutes later - and this is why I'm writing this, you've
been very patient so far, thank you - the teacher reappeared and asked, in a
hushed voice:

"Could Russell hold the meteorite you said you would pass round? He's very
disappointed that he 'll miss doing that, and he so wants to hold a piece of
space like you said..."

No problem, I told her, and passed it over. She vanished again, returning a
few minutes later with a sad smile on her face. "Thank you so much, he loved
that... he's being sick now, but he said to thank you for the talk." And that
was it. I took my well-travelled Canyon Diablo off her, put it back on the
table, and continued with the talk, but it was rather hard to feel so excited
anymore.

After the talk I went from class to class, answering questions while the kids
passed the meteorite around, and as ever they were all fascinated by it. They
weighed it in their hands, studied it up close to their eyes, spotted the
rust patches, dropped it on tables to demonstrate how heavy it was, smelled it
(they ALWAYS smell it!! Can't figure that out!) and were generally enamoured of
it. It was wonderful, as always, to see them connecting with the universe in a
very real, immediate way. Several of the girls - and funnily enough, it is
almost always the girls - told me how determined they were now to go into space
one day and see the sights I'd shown on the slides for real. One of them
promised to bring me back a bigger bit of Mars to replace my "bitty bits" :-) One
girl, never got her name but I think I heard one of her friends call her Lisa,
looked at me with a quite fierce intensity as she asked if I'd meant it when
I'd told them any of them who worked hard enough could go into space one day,
and when I repeated the assurance she nodded quietly. But there was that smoke
in her eyes again.

Then I left, and when I got back home I unpacked all my gear - the slides,
the books, the pic of Christa McAuliffe that accompanies me on all my school
talks - and, of course, the meteorites, and I took out old faithfulo Canyon
Diable to clean it of all its sticky fingerprints. Some of them, buried under all
the others, were Russell's, and I found myself wishing I coluld somehow keep
them on, they made the meteorite worth more to me somehow.

What I'm trying to say is this: we should never, ever forget how lucky we are
to have and enjoy this hobby of ours, or to have the life we do. We fall out,
things get nasty sometimes, but at the end of the day, when we turn off our
PCs and walk away from them, damnit, we own pieces of other worlds!! We can
still touch, and hold, pieces of the universe that are magical and incredible to
99% of the people we pass in the street. We literally hold the universe in
our hands, and we should never, ever forget how damned lucky or priviliged we
are. The intrenet allows us to talk to each other freely and often, to enjoy
free speech, to shrink the world to the size of an email inbox. Most of us get
that. Some don't. Some abuse it. Their loss, shame on them, but the Milky Way
will continue to turn despite their ignorance and bigotry. I won;t lose sleep
over their rantings. No-one else should either.

But let's not forget our privilige. For every time we squabble and tear
strips off each other, let's keep the balance and do something constructive.

Sometimes the flames catch hold on this list, which is fine, a consequence of
free speech, one of our most precious treasures. But if you want to really
make a difference, go and find your own Russell or Lisa, and set that kindling
smoking.

I urge everyone on this list who can to go visit a school, just once, just to
get the buzz. You won't regret it, I promise, and it will make you look at
your collection differently.

All the best from the UK!

Stu

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Content-Type: text/html; charset="US-ASCII"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable

<HTML>Hi all, 
 
I've enjoyed the Proud Tom saga as much as anyone... some might say there wa=
s an element of natural justice there... but yes, it's time to move on. Besi=
des, I'm sure that like our very own King Arthur, Proud Tom will rise again=20=
when his people truly need him... ;-) 
 
Just thought that some of you might like to hear about my latest meteorite-r=
elated Outreach experience in schools. Warning tho: this one is a bit of a "=
Little House On The Prairie" heart-string plucker, but it did give me a jolt=
and made me realise how lucky we all are to have what we have, and do what=20=
we do. 
 
I visited a junior (that's ages 5 - 11 yrs) school on Friday, to talk to a g=
roup of 80 or so kids, three classes combined, about the solar system, our p=
lace in the universe and, of course, aliens. All kids want to hear about ali=
ens, it's a - pardon the pun - universal fascination with them. Some are a b=
it disappointed when I tell them that no, aliens won't invade the Earth ("Aw=
www! That would be cool!" Er, no, it wouldn't actually...!) and that any ali=
ens we find on Mars are likely to resemble flecks of green paint or the kind=
of gloop you sneeze into a hanky during a heavy cold, but others... well, t=
heir eyes light up as they sense, possibly for the first time, just how amaz=
ing a place the universe is and how we fit into it. And when they hold the l=
ittle box with its flecks of Zagami dust in it, at the same time as looking=20=
at a picture of Mars' surface on the screen, well, the ones that "get it" wi=
ll never lose it. It's like rubbing two sticks together to start a fire, jus=
t the most wonderful feeling to stand there, in front of a group of kids, an=
d make eye contact with one and see the kindling of their imaginations and p=
otential beginning to smoke. Forget drugs, go do that in a school. You'll be=
high for days, I promise. 
 
But I digress... as usual, sorry!  I got to the school and set-up as qu=
ickly as I could, "helped" (i.e. being constantly interrupted and quizzed by=
) a dozen or so of the keenest kids who had been looking forward to the visi=
t. Then they vanished, but I got that feeling, that tingle, that tole me tha=
t it was going to be a great day. 
 
Then Russell arrived. Russell was 8 yrs old, and is very lucky to be here. H=
e's just come back to school after missing over a year fighting leukemia, an=
d he is still a very sick little boy, but over the worst. The teacher brough=
t him in in his wheelchair, ahead of all the other kids, and put him on the=20=
side, out of the way - not unfeelingly, just because the other kids would ha=
ve to get in thru the narrow doorway. But Russell wasn't having any of that,=
he wanted frint and centre, so, ignoring the teacher's offer of help, he wa=
lked his way over to the seat nearest the projector on the very frint row, a=
nd sat down in it, gasping for breath with the effort.The poor little guy is=
still bloated from all the drugs, and constanly nauseous, and the teacher e=
xplained that she had wanted him near the door so that she could take him ou=
t when - not iof, but when - he needed to be sick, so she was sorry if his d=
eparture would cause much disruption when it happened. Not a problem, I assu=
red her, and Russell sent me a big smile in reply. We had a chat - as much o=
f a chat as we could, anyway - and then the rest of the kids came in. And th=
ey all milled around him, talking to him, making sure he was comfortable and=
ok, which was a delight to witness. So I had a bit of a lump in my throat a=
s I started The Tour, but it didn't last long. I told them what they'd be se=
eing thru the talk, where they'd be "taken" and how they'd all get to hold a=
real meteorite before they went home.  That brought several gasps and=20=
"wow!"s. Gotcha, I thought. 
 
It was one of those (sadly rare!) occasions when everything I wanted to say=20=
came out just right, and the whole thing flowed smoothly. The kids loved the=
slides, especially the ones of Mars, and when I bounced a kid across the ro=
om to show them what walking on Mars in reduced G would be like they laughed=
so hard I thought the roof would come off. Russell smiled silently, but I c=
ould hear it anyway. 
 
Then I launched into my "Sermon" section, showing artwork of astronauts on M=
ars, looking for fossils, and exploring, and a "wow" hush descended on the r=
oom. Then my "killer slide" - an artist's impression of an astronaut, standi=
ng on Mars at sunset, watching Earth shining in the dusk like a bright blue-=
white star. I explained how, just as we saw Mars so clearly back in August,=20=
Earth can be seen from Mars... and if they all worked hard at school, and la=
ter at University or college, and set their minds and hearts to it, any of t=
hem, ANY of them, boy or girl, it makes no difference now, could go to Mars=20=
in the future and see the scene on the slide for real. 
 
Russell looked at me, and put a hand on his chest, eyes widening just a litt=
le. 
 
"Yes," I said, looking right at him, "ANY of you." 
 
And universe help me did he smile then - not broadly, just gently. I'm not e=
ven going to try to explain how that felt, but I think you can imagine for y=
ourselves anyway. 
 
Maybe he will make it, maybe he won't, I can't influence or even guess that.=
But I know that as he sat there at that moment he believed he could, and th=
at was good enough for me, you know? 
 
Anyway, all my space cadets then started on the final leg of the journey - a=
"zoom out" from the Sun to see where we fit into the scale of the Universe,=
how the Milky Way is just one galaxy among trillions, how the galaxies fill=
the universe like snoiwflakes in a blizzard, and eyes widened like plates t=
he further we got from the Sun... 
 
But it was too much for Russell, he couldn't hang on any longer and told the=
teacher he had to go and be sick. So we stopped to let him out, all the kid=
s wearing worried expressions as he was wheeled out, and after that it went=20=
a little flat. But a few minutes later - and this is why I'm writing this, y=
ou've been very patient so far, thank you - the teacher reappeared and asked=
, in a hushed voice: 
 
"Could Russell hold the meteorite you said you would pass round? He's very d=
isappointed that he 'll miss doing that, and he so wants to hold a piece of=20=
space like you said..." 
 
No problem, I told her, and passed it over. She vanished again, returning a=20=
few minutes later with a sad smile on her face. "Thank you so much, he loved=
that... he's being sick now, but he said to thank you for the talk." And th=
at was it. I took my well-travelled Canyon Diablo off her, put it back on th=
e table, and continued with the talk, but it was rather hard to feel so exci=
ted anymore. 
 
After the talk I went from class to class, answering questions while the kid=
s passed the meteorite around, and as ever they were all fascinated by it. T=
hey weighed it in their hands, studied it up close to their eyes, spotted th=
e rust patches, dropped it on tables to demonstrate how heavy it was, smelle=
d it (they ALWAYS smell it!! Can't figure that out!) and were generally enam=
oured of it. It was wonderful, as always, to see them connecting with the un=
iverse in a very real, immediate way. Several of the girls - and funnily eno=
ugh, it is almost always the girls - told me how determined they were now to=
go into space one day and see the sights I'd shown on the slides for real.=20=
One of them promised to bring me back a bigger bit of Mars to replace my "bi=
tty bits" :-) One girl, never got her name but I think I heard one of her fr=
iends call her Lisa, looked at me with a quite fierce intensity as she asked=
if I'd meant it when I'd told them any of them who worked hard enough could=
go into space one day, and when I repeated the assurance she nodded quietly=
. But there was that smoke in her eyes again. 
 
Then I left, and when I got back home I unpacked all my gear - the slides, t=
he books, the pic of Christa McAuliffe that accompanies me on all my school=20=
talks - and, of course, the meteorites, and I took out old faithfulo Canyon=20=
Diable to clean it of all its sticky fingerprints. Some of them, buried unde=
r all the others, were Russell's, and I found myself wishing I coluld someho=
w keep them on, they made the meteorite worth more to me somehow. 
 
What I'm trying to say is this: we should never, ever forget how lucky we ar=
e to have and enjoy this hobby of ours, or to have the life we do. We fall o=
ut, things get nasty sometimes, but at the end of the day, when we turn off=20=
our PCs and walk away from them, damnit, we  own pieces of other worlds=
!! We can still touch, and hold, pieces of the universe that are magical and=
incredible to 99% of the people we pass in the street. We literally hold th=
e universe in our hands, and we should never, ever forget how damned lucky o=
r priviliged we are. The intrenet allows us to talk to each other freely and=
often, to enjoy free speech, to shrink the world to the size of an email in=
box. Most of us get that. Some don't. Some abuse it. Their loss, shame on th=
em, but the Milky Way will continue to turn despite their ignorance and bigo=
try. I won;t lose sleep over their rantings. No-one else should either. 
 
But let's not forget our privilige. For every time we squabble and tear stri=
ps off each other, let's keep the balance and do something constructive. <BR=
>
 
Sometimes the flames catch hold on this list, which is fine, a consequence o=
f free speech, one of our most precious treasures. But if you want to really=
make a difference, go and find your own Russell or Lisa, and set that kindl=
ing smoking. 
 
I urge everyone on this list who can to go visit a school, just once, just t=
o get the buzz. You won't regret it, I promise, and it will make you look at=
your collection differently. 
 
All the best from the UK! 
 
Stu 
</HTML>
--part1_12c.35570c53.2ce8923d_boundary--
Received on Sun 16 Nov 2003 03:41:33 AM PST

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