By M.A. Dooley
“Dad, why do people think the moon is made of cheese?”
“Because of the holes, it looks like swiss cheese.”
“Dad, what are the holes made of?”
“They’re craters made by asteroids crashing on the surface.”
“Dad, can an asteroid crash here?”
“It’s possible, but not probable.”
“Dad, is a shooting star a dying sun?”
“No, they are meteorites burning up in earth’s atmosphere.”
“But they’re good luck, right dad?”
The Mars landing reminded me of days of infinite possibilities. I was born to an aerospace engineer who flew to Cape Canaveral for satellite launches. The morning of the Apollo 12 lift-off, our family huddled around a black and white picture box. My little brother was just happy in mom’s soft lap. I, the older one and already like my dad, asked innumerable questions before count down. Mom shushed me so dad could narrate the details of the rocket parts and stages. As soon as an opening allowed, I proceeded with my inquiry.
“Dad, is there such thing as aliens?”
“It’s possible, but not probable.”
“Why not, dad?”
“Because of all the ingredients required for life, especially water, which we can’t find on other planets.”
“But dad, have we looked everywhere?”
“We are trying.”
“Dad, what about Mars?”
“Nope, there’s no life-sustaining elements there.”
“But dad, is it possible that there once was?”
“It’s possible, but not probable.”
“But it is possible, right dad?”
M.A. Dooley is a fourth generation Californian who spent her childhood in the Santa Cruz Mountains. She is an architect in partnership with her husband. They have three sons. Among a multitude of athletic interests, she loves to ski and dance. Her work has been published in Sunset, Trends, San Francisco Magazine, the San Francisco Chronicle, The Press Democrat,and in Poems of a Modern Day Architect published by ARCHHIVE BOOKS, 2020.
