Dad got home early from work today. Going upstairs to change he called, “Mindy, want to come to the star party?”
“Sure,” I squealed thinking cake, candy, and party hats. I wasn’t sure if star parties were like birthdays. “Should I wear my new dress,” I asked? I wanted to wear the right thing in case I would meet somebody like Princess Leia from Star Wars.
But Dad answered, “Put on warm clothes. We’ll be outside and it’s chilly tonight.”
Can I wear my new jeans and sweater with the sparkles,” I thought out loud?
“That’s fine; and bring your flashlight.”
I wondered if we’d hunt treasures in the dark, “Will I need my jacket?”
“Good idea, and hurry; we have an hour drive ahead,” Dad called.
I guessed we were going to where all the stars live. It must take forever to get to Hollywood. I quickly pulled on my pants and got my flashlight from the nightstand. Dad met me at the bottom of the stair. He was dressed in his red checkered hunting jacket. His big binoculars hung from his neck, and he was holding his fat yellow flashlight. He held out a hand saying, “Give me your flashlight."
I handed it over. He carried it to the den and rummaged in our craft drawer. He pulled out scissors, rubber bands, and the roll of red cellophane Mom had used to make Christmas decorations. He put the flashlights face down on the cello and cut a circle big enough to fit over the end of the light. He fastened it with a rubber band. Turning on the flashlight, he tested the outcome. It gave off a pretty pink glow. “What’s that for,” I asked thinking it would be harder to find treasures in such a dim red light.
“You’ll see,” he answered. “Let’s go.”
“We drove and drove. As the sun started to set, Dad took the highway that turned into the hills. By the time he stopped the car it was too dark to see. Dad took his flashlight and lit the path in front of us. I heard low voices ahead and wondered where the party lights and decorations were. Then I saw the red glow of other flashlights. “Are we late,” I asked thinking the treasure hunt had started?
“No, we’re right on time,” said Dad.
My eyes started to adjust to the dark. Around each glow I saw dark shapes of people. Next to each person stood a metal tube with some knobs sticking out. I didn’t see a house. I didn’t see cake or candy favors. I didn’t see a band playing or people dancing. In the dark I couldn’t even see the faces. I asked Dad, “Where are the Stars?”
He chuckled and pointed his flashlight straight up saying, “Look.”
Overhead the night sky was sprinkled with brilliant sequins. I had never seen so many stars in the sky before. A powdery band of light stretched above us. “Wow,” I said thinking this must be what Dad meant when he said we were going to a star party.
Dad brought me to a person in the middle of a group of people. I stared at the tubes as we got closer. They had to be telescopes, but some were short and fat, not like the long tube ones in Christmas advertisements. “Mindy,” said Dad, “Meet Ms. Bartholomew. She’s in charge of Astrokids.
“Welcome to our star party,” said Ms. Bartholomew. “We have a few other junior astronomers here tonight. May I introduce you?” I eyed the fat tube next to her. She said, “You can look through the telescopes soon.”
I had a million questions running through my head. I could see the telescopes were big and had electric wires attached. Others had no legs. I wondered about the stars and why I could see so many here but not at home. I wanted to ask if any planets were in the sky. I thought of my red flashlight, not knowing why everybody was using the low pink light.
Ms. Bartholomew told Dad, “You’re welcome to join the other astronomers while I group the children.” She pointed and said, “Joe there is looking at the Ring Nebula and Marty has M-13 in his sights.
She left Dad standing by her telescope and said, “Follow me.”
Dad put his binoculars around my neck and warned, “Don’t drop them.” He turned to visit with other astronomers in the chilly darkness.
I followed Ms. Bartholomew asking, “Why did Dad put the red cellophane on my flashlight?”
She answered, “Astronomers don’t like light pollution. White light ruins night vision. That’s why we drive here to the mountains where we can see lots more stars than you see in the city. The red flashlight helps us find things on our star maps without blinding us.”
“You use star maps,” I asked thinking of a big paper full of dots?
“Of course we do,” said our Astrokids leader. “Without them, we wouldn’t be able to find anything. It would be like going to visit your grandma without knowing what street she lives on.” She pointed her flashlight at a square cardboard she was carrying. She called it a Planisphere. The board had a wheel of constellations attached that could rotate. It reminded me of the birthday card my friend Stacie gave me last year. I could turn the circle and pick my age.
Ms. Bartholomew led me to a group of girls and boys sitting on a blanket. I sat down with them as Ms. Bartholomew asked our names, one by one. Then she told us to lie on our backs and look carefully at the sky. She pointed out a star with a laser pointer and asked, “What color do you see?”
I didn’t know stars had different colors. I looked hard at the big bright star she pointed out. “It looks white to me,” I said.
“Don’t look straight at it,” she said. You will see it better if you look at the dark beside it.”
“It’s orange,” cried Dylan.
“Nah, it’s red,” said Johnny.
Melissa answered, “Looks yellow to me.”
“Everyone sees colors differently,” explained Ms. Bartholomew. “All of you are correct. That star is Antares, a red giant. It looks red to some people, or orange, or yellow. It certainly isn’t white.”
“Look,” I pointed “There’s a white star.” Everyone looked where I was pointing. The bright star near the horizon was very white.
Ms. Bartholomew said, “It’s white alright, Mindy, but it’s not a star.”
Now I was confused. “What is it,” I asked?
“That’s the planet Venus,” she answered. “Why don’t you look at it through your binoculars?”
I rested my elbows against my ribs like she instructed, to steady the binoculars so they wouldn’t shake. I tried to find the planet, but bumped into too many stars along the way. I got lost and took the binoculars away from my eyes to find Venus again. On my third try, I thought I found it, but it wasn’t round. It was a tiny sliver of white like the lemon slice Dad puts in my ice tea. “It’s the moon,” I yelled. “I found the moon.”
“You found Venus,” answered Ms. Bartholomew. “It’s in crescent stage, like the moon when the shadow of the earth falls across it.”
I was afraid to take the binocular away from my eyes. I feared I might not find the little moon again. “It must be the moon. It looks just like it,” I mumbled.
Ms. Bartholomew asked all the kids to put their binoculars down and look for the moon. “You can see the moon without binoculars. Where is it?”
The moon was nowhere in sight. It was so dark, that without the pink light from the flashlights, we couldn’t see anything. “There’s no moon,” said Dylan.
Ms. Bartholomew answered, “That’s right, you’ve been looking at Venus.”
The Astrokids leader began to point out constellations. Antares, the red giant star was at the top of Scorpio, which stood low in the southern sky. She showed us Hercules on the planisphere and then aimed her laser at the sky. Herc didn’t look like the strong man from my mythology book. He looked like a butterfly against the blackness. Ms. Bartholomew’s laser traced along the top of the butterfly’s left wing and said, See if you can see the tiny fuzzy spot there!”
Wes strained to find the patch of sky that formed the top of the butterfly’s wingtip. I couldn’t see anything. Then Melissa shouted, “I see something. It looks like a tiny baby cotton ball.”
“Sounds like M-13. It’s a star cluster,” answered Ms Bartholomew.
I started to shiver. The ground under the blanket felt cold and my arms got tired holding the binocular. The lady astronomer asked us to stand up and stretch. She folded the blanket and brought us to the telescope field. Dad was still standing next to Marty and Ms. Bartholomew said, “Mindy, would you like to see M-13?”
“Sure, I said,” excited I’d be looking through a telescope.
Ms Bartholomew went off with the other children to other telescopes. Marty dragged a kitchen step-stool over because I was too short to look through his telescope. I used the handle to climb up it, trying not to touch the telescope. Telescopes are expensive, Ms Bartholomew had warned, and we would need permission to touch. I looked into Marty’s telescope and saw a million stars all bunched in a tight little knot.
Marty must have known I was surprised. He touched my shoulder and said, “Look here through the finder scope.” He pointed to a tiny tube screwed to the top of his big telescope. There was Hercules! In the left wing of his butterfly shape, I saw the fuzzy cotton ball Melissa had seen in her binocular. “Wow, is that M-13?” I asked.
“Sure is,” said Marty. “Isn’t it awesome?”
I looked through the main eyepiece again at that tight cluster of stars. “Sure looks like fireworks.”
“Try to find it in your binoculars,” he encouraged. I tried again and this time I found the little fuzzy patch.
“Would you like to see a galaxy, too?” he said.
Dad spoke up, “Aren’t galaxies too faint?”
“Not Andromeda. She’s naked eye.” He pointed to the big square of Pegasus. He readjusted his telescope to aim toward the big constellation. Then he stepped back for Dad and said, “Your turn to try.”
Dad fumbled with the knobs to aim the telescope to the lower left corner of the big square. “Am I close?” he asked Marty, stepping aside to let Marty check. “I don’t see anything.”
“Almost there,” said Marty. “Turn this screw a bit to the right.”
Dad kept his eye to the eyepiece turning the screw a tiny bit. “I think I have it,” his voice cracked with excitement.
Marty stepped in once more, “Sure do!”
“Let me see,” I begged.
Marty backed away from the telescope and said, “You know to look with averted vision, right?”
“Uh huh,” I said not sure what he meant. I didn’t see anything at first, but every time my eye searched around the dark circle of the lens, I felt as if a faint whisp of a cloud hung in the middle. Then I remembered Ms. Bartholomew saying to look away from the star so I could see it better, and I understood what Marty meant. Averted vision means don’t look straight at it.
I concentrated on looking away from the middle. When I did, I saw the giant, pale fuzzy oval called Andromeda. “I see it,” I murmured in awe.
Joe called from the other side of the field, “I have something for the kids.”
We all gathered around and he passed out planispheres for us to assemble at home. Now I would have my own star map. Then he poured hot chocolate for everybody from his big thermos. It warmed us up and I started to feel sleepy. Dad put me in the car and checked my seatbelt. Before I fell asleep Dad whispered, “Wasn’t your idea of a party, huh?”
"Dad," I said. "This was the best party I've ever been to."
