I'm on another airplane. This one is taking me to London, by way of Dulles. It's a crowded, Thanksgiving week flight, where the 30 square inches of real estate that is the shared armrest has launched a battle of wills — a territorial Cold War with a total stranger, with nothing more at stake than a bit o' comfort. I'm normally a window person, but am on the aisle for this leg. I don't know why people like this seat — the constant jostling during boarding, the hazard to elbows and kneecaps as the flight attendants rattle their carts up and back, no place to lean your head, and no control over the window shade (We're flying! Aren't you at all curious about what's below us?).
It's my year to be Simone-less over Thanksgiving, and though I do relish my off-duty pajamas and movies holidays (turning down all invitations for orphan turkey dinner), I needed a few more miles to maintain my elite status.
Because I'd met a London-based literary agent at a conference who was interested in my newest creative project (meeting set for Friday), had no reason to stick around Denver (aka nobody local in the picture), and was missing my lovable cousins who live in the center of the city (except they'll be gone a big chunk of the time), I figured I might as well book a trip out.
So here I am on a turbulent flight, just got my elbow crushed by the snack cart, and the dad sitting next to me has colonized the entire armrest and a bit of my space, besides.
It would be different if I had my new favorite travel companion with me.
When I hit London this time around, I probably won't visit Simone's second-favorite London destination (after her uncles' sweet flat). As much as I loved the Natural History Museum, I don't see a reason to visit without my dino-loving daughter.
Simone has wanted to be a paleontologist since before she could even say the word. All kids go through a dinosaur phase, but Simone started early (before she was two), absorbing books and educational programs like Prehistoric Planet and Walking with Dinosaurs, learning names and eras, and drawing rudimentary illustrations of parasaurolophuses and tyrannosauruses.
In fact, when she had just turned three, I was able to set up a meeting for her with the chief curator of the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. I was working as Youth Content Editor for The Denver Post at the time, and had a strong relationship with their director of marketing. When I expressed a desire for Simone to meet a real paleontologist, my friend made it happen.
I still remember driving to the museum that morning, thinking how funny it was that the chief curator had agreed to meet with a 3-year-old.
When we arrived, Dr. Russ Graham introduced himself to Simone, and she managed to put out a tiny hand and say, "Nice to meet you." The paleontologist took us into the back collections rooms, where bones and casts not on display are kept on rows and rows of metal shelves. Simone was thunderstruck by the mural along one wall, depicting some sort of pastoral scene during the age of dinosaurs - lumbering apatosaurs munching on tree branches, while delicate hadrosaurs sipped at the edge of a lake.
She was so tiny that I carried her during our tour, and when Dr. Graham showed her a jawbone on a shelf, it was just below eye level for her.
"Simone," he said, pointing to the horseshoe-shaped mandible, "what do you think of this?"
Simone leaned out of my arms far enough to get a closer look, pondered it for a second, and said, "Flat teeth. Must have been an herbivore."
Dr. Graham raised his eyebrows at me, maybe wondering if I'd prompted her. I just shrugged.
"Okay, Simone," he said, getting into it now, "take a look at this." He gestured across the aisle to another metal shelf, where a long, birdlike skull sat, empty eye sockets looking nowhere.
"With that crest," Simone said, not hesitating, "it must have been a pteranodon."
Now the paleontologist was truly intrigued. He walked us through the stacks, pointing out old bones and casts, and began laughing as Simone continued to identify their origins, even getting their place in time right, for the most part. I still barely know the difference between Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous, but dinogirl has it down.
As we stopped so I could put Simone down and rest my arms a bit, Dr. Graham looked at me, and smiled.
"Tell Dr. Graham what you want to be when you grow up," I said.
Simone was still working on her 'L' sound, so it came out like this: "A payeontoyogist."
The chief curator nodded as he crouched down to shake her hand. "I have no doubt you will be, Simone," he said. "And when you start writing papers, I want you to send them to me."
Simone shook his hand gravely, and nodded back.
Her obsession with prehistoric creatures has waxed and waned over the years, but there's never been a time when dinosaurs haven't graced the walls of her bedroom. From cartoons, to video games, to books, and scientific TV shows, Simone has helped herself to a steady diet of dino content. Of course I’ve fed that passion over the years, but I’d like to believe I would have done the same if she’d become obsessed with horses or ballet.
As her artistic ability began to manifest itself, Simone started to wonder how her love of dinosaurs and illustration could somehow be combined. So when she read about a paleo-artist in one of her magazines, it felt like something more than luck. It felt like fate.
A paleo-artist is a scientist who designs museum displays, scale models, and renderings of prehistoric life. It’s the perfect confluence of analytical thought and artistic expression. That one article, from Muse magazine, inspired Simone to work toward a new goal — now she could be a paleontologist AND an artist.
It changed the way she looked at her education — she went after an artistic major at her school that would give her the foundation for museum display creation; in her seven-year stagecraft and design program, she’s learning set design and construction, costume design, lighting and sound.
And it changed the way she experienced museums. When we were in New York City last month, not only was Simone hungry to learn about the dinosaurs featured (at least the ones she didn’t know much about), but she was equally attentive to the way they were displayed — how the models were built and presented, how the bones were mounted on wires or other materials. The photos she took were rarely of the whole displays, rather they were detail shots of scale models, backdrops, and plates.
From the age of two to about 14, I wanted to be an astronaut. It was my fervent dream, and I collected memorabilia and books about the Apollo missions, the Space Shuttle, and NASA. But it was never something I worked at — I didn’t focus on being better at math, or consider engineering as a stepping stone. I loved flying, but never worked toward getting a pilot’s license. My dream gradually evaporated over time, as I found other interests. I still get pangs when I watch a rocket launch, or hear about cool stuff happening in space. But I gave up my aspirations when I let my bad study habits take precedence over my dreams of flying to the moon.
So maybe I feel a special responsibility to Simone. I’d never force her to work toward a certain direction — I have no interest in stage mothering her to become a paleo-artist. But I will encourage her, and provide her with the experiences and tools and introductions that will keep her fed and moving in a direction that she’s passionate about.
I’m not going to visit the British Museum of Natural History this trip...but that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about dinosaurs and flying reptiles.
That is so awesome that she is still interested in paleontology and has found a way to combine her passions. I still remember when she sent me a drawing of an ancient cephalopod! Perhaps someday she will be working in the Smithsonian or here at Nat Geo!
Posted by: mj | December 20, 2012 at 11:51 AM