Chapter 8 - The Science Fair
By late November, Noah’s third-grade class announced its annual STEM science fair. Students were tasked with building a project that demonstrated a scientific principle or explored a natural phenomenon.
Naturally, Noah chose astronomy.
When I picked him up from school on a Tuesday afternoon, he bounced into the passenger seat, his backpack heavy with a stack of research printouts.
“Mom, Mr. Harrison said I can bring my telescope to school for the science fair exhibition next Friday,” Noah said excitedly. “And he asked if an adult could come help set up the mountings because they’re heavy.”
“That’s wonderful, buddy,” I smiled, navigating the suburban streets. “Who do you want to ask? Uncle Ray or Grandpa?”
Noah didn't even hesitate. “Grandpa. He knows how to tighten the bolts better than anyone.”
When I mentioned it to Dad later that evening over the phone, I could hear the distinct catch in his breath. For a man who had spent decades measuring his worth by professional accolades and patriarchal control, being asked to assist an eight-year-old in a school gymnasium was the highest honor he could have ever received.
“Tell him I’ll be there at 7:00 AM sharp,” Dad said, his voice thick with uncharacteristic emotion. “With an extra wrench and a thermos of hot apple cider.”
On the morning of the science fair, the school gymnasium buzzed with the chaotic energy of dozens of children displaying volcanoes made of baking soda, electrical circuits wired to lightbulbs, and posters covered in glitter and diagrams.
Noah’s station was near the back corner, featuring his refractor telescope, a detailed hand-drawn map of the solar system, and the worn copy of the planet book he had bought with his savings.
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Dad arrived right on time, wearing a clean button-down shirt instead of his usual worn flannel. Together, they mounted the telescope onto its tripod, carefully calibrating the alignment so the children and judges passing by could look through the lens at a miniature replica of the moon placed across the gymnasium.
As the judges walked past, stopping to ask Noah about focal lengths, magnification, and planetary orbits, Dad stood a few paces back, his hands clasped behind his back, watching with an expression of pure, unadulterated pride.
