As 2006 recedes with the outgoing tide and the first waves of the New Year are washing ashore, I find my mind fixated on several disparate subjects. For whatever reasons, I have been thinking a lot about Pluto, the Tooth Fairy, and Santa Claus.
As usual, maybe I’d better explain myself before all of you think I have finally gone off the deep end of the pier.
A few months ago, a group of supposedly intelligent astronomers, meeting in Austria, came forth with a startling pronouncement. This group of researchers and professors stated, without equivocation, that Pluto was not a planet.
What? How can that be? Is nothing sacred anymore?
Ever since my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. West, displayed a motorized model of the solar system to our class, I learned that there are nine planets. I knew that Mercury was the closest to the Sun and that Earth was the third planet out. I knew that Saturn had rings and that Jupiter was the behemoth of the planetary system. I also knew that Pluto was the ninth planet and so far away from the Sun that you could ice fish there in July.
Is nothing sacred?
After learning of this new revelation, that Pluto had somehow been demoted like some derelict employee, I fell into a dark depression. It was like I had lost an old friend. It was as if I learned that the Pope was not really a Catholic and bears, rather than relieving themselves in the woods, used the restroom at Waffle House.
I am still reeling from all of this and I hope, with the dawn of 2007, I can somehow put all of this out of my mind and return to some semblance of normality.
What does all this have to do with the Tooth Fairy and Santa? I’m glad you asked.
When I was six years old, my best buddy Ronnie Johnson and I were enjoying our first season of organized baseball, playing in the Junior Little League in Venice, Florida. Ronnie was a year older than me and, as I have mentioned before in this column, the neighborhood bully and resident guru. Ronnie and I played on opposite teams and, one fateful game, we faced off against each other.
I recall the ensuing events like it was yesterday. I was pitching and Ronnie hit a slow roller toward first base. I bolted for first and covered the bag. Just as I took the underhand toss from the first baseman, Ronnie barreled across the bag and knocked me halfway to right field. Undaunted, I got up but noticed that my two front teeth, already loose, were about to fall out.
Angry, I decided I would exact revenge. On Ronnie’s next trip to the plate, I put a fastball under his chin, sending him sprawling. This was before the days when it became fashionable for a batter to charge the mound after being nailed by a pitcher. Ronnie, however, was ahead of his time. He raced out to the mound and tackled me like a linebacker. We both got tossed out of the game, but I didn’t really mind. At least I got my revenge.
My two teeth, however, didn’t survive Ronnie’s charge. Sitting in the bleachers with Ronnie (like most kids, we had already made peace) I showed him my two teeth.
“At least some good will come out of all this,” I opined. “I’ll put these under my pillow tonight and, if I’m lucky, the Tooth Fairy will leave me a buck.”
Ronnie looked at me with that all-knowing, neighborhood sage look for which he was famous.
“Hey, I got a news flash for you, Sherlock,” Ronnie smirked. “There ain’t no such thing as the Tooth Fairy. Your Old Man leaves the money under your pillow.”
I was crestfallen to say the least. He might have well as told me that Pluto wasn’t a planet.
A couple of years later, Ronnie straightened me out about Santa as well.
“Hey, I got a news flash for you, Sherlock. There ain’t no such thing as Santa Claus.”
You could have put me in the grave right then. I was depressed for weeks.
All of these memories came flooding back when I learned that Pluto had been demoted. I thought of that ball game, that sad Christmas, and, most of all, I thought of Ronnie Johnson.
I lost track of Ronnie during our college years. Last I heard of him, he was pursuing a Masters Degree in Physical Science at Florida State. That was many, many years ago. Still, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he had finally specialized in Astronomy. He was always a little spacey. Could it be that Ronnie was among those scholars gathered in Austria back in October? I can hear him now as he addressed the chairman of the astronomical committee.
“I got a news flash for you, Sherlock. Pluto ain’t no planet.”