Keep Quiet

"Keep quiet," I thought as I crawl quietly through the cemetery.

The stars were breathtaking, but the cold bit my fingertips like a trapped doberman.

Still, it was worth the trip.  I hadn't imagined the night alone would bring me to this, but I dipped further into myself.

No music, no talk radio, nothing but my thoughts to myself as I stared into the netherworld.  The night reminds me I once envisioned the dream my son holds in his sleep.  Nothing gains his interest like a night under the stars, peering through the telescope, finding Jupiter or Venus.

But school changed my ideas of space travel.  You see, to me, math and science were Latin.  My grades and desire reflected it.  My blank stares at the overhead projection were interrupted only by the punctuating rapt of my teacher's voice calling my name.

My eyes are open to the folly of my youth now.  Time doesn't change the mistakes of the past tense dreamer.

Like most parents, I turn to learn what churns my child's wheelhouse.  My love lies in writing, in photography.  But daily, I gain crumbs of science, math and the brilliance of mechanical minds whose bolts I couldn't replace.  Fascination with science plagues me now.  Consumes, really.  We're all carbon, formed in our own mould, yet their wiring sparks a little brighter.

I live for the day, when sharing what I've learned with my son gains his excitement, hoping he's one of them.  Believing it can be fostered from kindling.  Maybe his life will uncover the unknown.  Maybe his legacy will be a cure, an antidote or a discovery.

But then again, maybe the love of the unlearned will fade. Mine did.  Changed to athletics, then girls.  There it stayed, until he came.  For him, now the twinkle, like the stars tonight, is still there.  Unblemished like his sense of the world.

"Keep quiet," I remind myself.  It will come soon enough.  "Keep quiet."