Yesterday, as the pavement in Arizona gave people third-degree burns and the oceans in Florida cooked the fish alive, a congressional hearing revealed the government has alien body parts in storage. Ultimately, this not does not affect my immediate plans to throw together a quick marinade for the chicken in the fridge tonight, so I do not particularly care. But four years ago I gave birth to a person who now cares about outer space a great deal, and so as not to extinguish the spark of his curiosity, here is how I answered his questions about it when the topic came up at last night’s dinner table.
GOOF: Are aliens real?
ME, INTERNALLY: Instinctively I’d say no, but the truth is…I hope so? The alternative is even more harrowing.
ME: We can’t possibly know what exists in space, because it is giant and goes on forever. It’s infinite.
GOOF: How big is infinite?
ME, INTERNALLY: The amount of money I spend on the tiny rubber shoes you refuse to wear.
ME: Infinite means it can’t be measured. It’s bigger than the biggest number. For example, I love you and your brother infinitely.
GOOF: I love him a medium amount. Will I ever meet an alien?
ME, INTERNALLY: You’ve met them. [REDACTED]’s kids.
ME: Maybe one day you’ll go to space and try to find a friendly one!
GOOF: I do not want to meet an alien because what if it has pinchers or if it’s very crawly.
ME: Sweetie pie, are you talking about crabs?
GOOF: I am talking about a, like, veeeeery small crab that wears a crabby hat.
ME, INTERNALLY: ?
GOOF: …
ME: …
GOOF: Where are the aliens right now?
ME, INTERNALLY: Maybe this is all too much for him and we should stick to just the ocean part of the museum instead of the planetarium? No. I can’t militate or curate his interests — he’s his own person. And aren’t early childhood “space” and “dinosaur” fixations just an expression of a very common childhood urge to explore the unknowable? But what if it spirals? What if he becomes one of those freaks who storms Area 51 and calls the police to report every telecom satellite and lens flare? He shouldn’t be scared of aliens - he should be scared that he was born in a city with a “fire season” where he couldn’t go outside for two months a year without having to go on a nebulizer. The point isn’t that aliens might exist on some alien planet — it’s that we need to hope our own planet is habitable for at least another three or four generations so our great-great granddaughters can elect the second female vice president. Ok. Just be cool and go with it. Handle it breezily.
ME: If they exist, they live so far away it’s very unlikely they have ever visited us here on Planet Earth, but if they do come here I hope we treat them kindly and show them that we are kind people who share our things and are respectful of other people’s - uh - and alien’s bodies.
GOOF: If I met an alien I would not share my ice cream truck Lego. I would not share it because the pieces are too little and chokey.
ME, INTERNALLY: Insane.
ME: Good thinking.
GOOF: And also because the alien might crush my legos with his pinchers and that would make me so sad because the ice cream truck is my favorite. And it’s not for aliens it’s for big kids!
ME: Absolutely.
HUSBAND, TUNING IN WHILE FEEDING THE BABY: I’m sorry - what?
I can't WAIT to read the dialogue years from now when birds-and-bees news is broached.
"Me, Internally" is gonna get a workout that day. Excited!
😂 We've all met [Redacted]'s kids who are literal aliens.