I could no sooner choose a favorite star in the heavens

Since I was young, my dad taught me to be fascinated with the world. I was brought into the world by two scientists (i.e. nerds) who got me interested in science, exploring, and asking questions. When my mom died, my once happy familial connections died, as well. My siblings and I scattered emotionally, unable to grasp the love of two parents, not just one. It wasn't until I was in high school that my dad made any real attempts to be a father again. We had a long way to go in terms of healing our relationship, but we managed to bond over similar interests, such as Josh Groban's music, and astronomy. My dad has, to this day, only ever cried once over a gift, and that was the massive telescope my stepmother bought him one year for Christmas. It was like he had received all the answers to the universe's most perplexing questions in a fat, white tube that, through its lens, blasted him into the next galaxy. When we talked about the stars, he took me with him into that outer space.

Some of my fondest memories are of the early freezing mornings in autumn spent in the front yard with my dad, watching meteor showers through that white telescope. It was a little thing that brought two people who were light years apart together under the same sky. My dad would leave me notes about upcoming meteor showers, and just this week, he texted me about the annual Perseid meteor shower, which was supposed to happen last night. I walked outside and peered up at the sky, hoping for some glimpse of a fond memory to shoot through the blackness, but none came. I found the little dipper and Orion's belt, pet the black cat whom I've now claimed for my own, and walked back inside. I pulled up a live webcast of the sky, turned off the lights, and fell asleep beside the stars.

It is now quarter to 2, and I am perched outside on my front stoop, drinking a hard cider, breathing in the aroma of a burning citronella candle, petting the cat, and writing this post while stealing glimpses of the sky. I imagine that each star, blinking faintly at me through the city's muggy gray darkness, peers down at me like a proud parent, sending me light and love and marveling at how much I've grown.

I'd like to look at the stars with my dad again. For old time's sake, I'd like to peer through the lens on a cold night, breathe in the chill in the air, and send light and love back to the stars that brought me closer to my long lost father.

 Me and my dad, 4 or 5 years ago

 

Me and my dad, back when I had a Ninja Turtles camera :)