"Mom, does space go on forever?" says the 7-year-old.
"Well, research supports that theory, and most of our science points to the possibility that it does go on forever, is infinite, has no boundaries." I leave out what I want to say next, which is that space has no boundaries, like Fantasia. She will not understand this reference, even though she is smart enough to understand a conversation about infinite time and space.
My daughter crosses her arms, scowls, and says, "That is going to bother me."
A little while later, she reports, "That is still bothering me." Later, after a snack, an update from the couch, "I am going to be thinking about this for awhile."
I call my mother and tell her the above conversation and she reports that she, as a child, was petrified by the thought of space going on forever.
My mother and my daughter, both concerned about infinite space, infinite time, when we have neither with each other, at least here on this plane. Those who will call us their past, those future generations with Mom and me and Belle all mixed up in their DNA can have the same conversations with their mothers and children with the same result, same unknowns, same vague illusion of the edges of things.
That is going to bother me.
I am going to be thinking about this for awhile.
SEA 8/11/13
