Goodnight Moon

Goodnight Moon

I remember the first time I saw a shooting star. The cool mountain air on my face, the strong smell of wet pine, the sound of the flowing creek and crackling campfire. Millions of shimmering sparkles dotting the vast darkness. I was watching a specific star, flashing blue and red and green. Sitting on my dad’s lap, the smell of Marlboro Menthols and engine grease strong on his denim jacket. Suddenly, in this exact spot, a streak of searing silver light streamed down the sky to the east. I remember thinking it was a firework. “Dad! A firework!” I had exclaimed excitedly. He jumped; I had been sitting quietly with him watching the sky for nearly 30 minutes. He chuckled, his hearty, raspy laugh I will never forget. “That’s a shooting star squirt, make a wish.” I looked into his suntanned face, his deep laugh lines, crow's feet, his rough black moustache peppered with grey, his deep green-blue eyes. A wish? I had heard of wishing on stars in my fairy tales. My father was a practical man. A hard-working blue collar, gun-slinging kind of man. I had never heard him speak of wishes. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished with my whole being.

To this day I couldn't tell you what I wished for. But from that day on I always wished on stars. Whether they were shooting or not. In my young mind, a star meant a wish. Because of this my mother bought me every child's book relating to stars. My favorite of these books was “Goodnight Moon” by Margaret Wise Brown. Out of any book she bought for me I had this one memorized. And every night, from the bedroom window that me and my brother shared, we would look up at the starry night sky and say “Goodnight Stars. Goodnight Moon.” Then, as we were falling asleep, I would make a wish on every star I could see until falling asleep. If I couldn’t sleep, which became a common problem as I grew older, I would stare at the moon. Saying goodnight to the moon instilled a certain fantasy of mine that the moon was, in essence, a living being. A living body of light with thoughts and emotions similar to my own. I always felt connected to the moon, and began to talk to her. Late at night when my parents and brother had gone to bed, I would sit up and tell the moon all my thoughts, my fears, my dreams. I felt that I could tell the moon the wishes I made on stars. After all, she wouldn’t tell anyone.

This whimsical practice took on an almost obsession-like quality. Over the next years it would develop into a passion for space. I spent every waking moment daydreaming about traveling among the stars. In middle school I was fascinated by astronomy and space travel. I must have watched the 1969 moon landing at least a hundred times. Studying the dusty, rocky terrain closely. In high school that progressed into studying astrophysics and rocket science, even astrology. My plan, of course, was to be an astronaut. The end of my Sophomore Year, however, would stomp that dream into the ground. I remember seeing the big F on my first test of the year in “Intro to Algebra.” It was something that no matter how hard I tried; I simply could not understand. Semester after semester I would fail this class. I retained an “A” in every other subject, even moving on to AP courses in English, Literature, Economics, World History, and even Drama. Math, however, was the bane of my existence. Words such as “Dyslexia” and “ADD” were tossed around in counselor meetings with my parents. I will never forget the day my counselor blankly told me face to face that I would never be an astronaut if I couldn’t pass basic Algebra.

At this age, with my overplayed melodrama that was high school life, I took that to heart. And promptly gave up my dream of being an astronaut. I did eventually pass ‘Intro to Algebra’ with a low ‘C’, and moved on with my life. Even so, I would talk to the moon nearly every night. Some nights, sobbing into the night air as I desperately wished on every star for her to talk back. By senior year I had stopped talking to the moon. I had a job, a Boyfriend, and a social life to maintain. I had no time for fantasies. It wasn’t until years later that I resumed talking to the moon. I was 26, me and my boyfriend were getting ready to purchase our first home. I sat on the balcony of our small one-bedroom apartment feeling very hot and sick. I looked up at the beautiful night sky, with all of the twinkling stars and the full, bright silvery moon. And suddenly a shooting star streamed by, just underneath the moon. I laughed to myself and made a wish that surprised me.

My boyfriend and I had talked about having children someday. Still, we had never planned it. Despite the little effort put in to prevent it, that had not happened. The following week when the sickness wouldn’t go away, my wish came true. I was pregnant. I remember looking up teary eyed into the night sky and thanking the moon and stars above. My boyfriend and I sat in an Outback parking lot looking up at the moon as we waited for my Bloomin’ Onion that I so desperately needed. I thought of the children's story I was so fond of. In this moment, thinking of this book, we chose to name our daughter Luna, after the moon. I talked to the moon every night while I was pregnant with my little girl. Telling her all my hopes and fears and wishes for her life. I felt deep in my bones that she was a special gift. She was born late at night, under a full moon.

Now, I may not have been able to achieve my childhood dream of exploring the universe. I know it’s not too late, but my life has taken on a whole new meaning. One that is possibly more meaningful then sailing the stars ever could be. And when I look into my daughter’s eyes, I see the galaxy. She is my moon, my stars, my whole universe. I can't help but think that the Universe had this planned for my life. Taking care of my baby feels right in ways I simply cannot explain. Writing about this has reminded me how very important the books we read as children are in developing our personalities and our futures. And I can only wish that I provide one to my daughter that affects her the way “Goodnight Moon” did to me. Because of this book, every night as I’m rocking my daughter to sleep, we say “Goodnight Stars, Goodnight Air, Goodnight noises everywhere.”

“Goodnight Moon.”