I feel fortunate to have been able to hear Astronaut Charlie Duke at the Mayors’ prayer breakfast last month. The grown-up side of me is still thinking about the bravery he showed—not walking on the moon, which was extraordinary, of course—but by telling a room full of strangers about his personal failures on his journey to finding peace with God.
I fail all the time, but I am in no mood to tell anyone about it. Given I am not scheduled for my first space walk any time soon, it’s not like I have that far to fall in anyone’s estimation, but I’m still not in a rush to shine a light on it.
Speaking to an American hero in person, despite his mission being nearly 50 years ago, I couldn’t help but marvel at what he did, and how unfortunate it is that we aren’t honoring people like Charlie every day. No matter how many apps, gadgets, or planets we conquer, no other humans will ever be able to say they were Apollo astronauts. That said, there’s always the Poppy side of me that can’t do anything without amusing myself in the process.
For instance, how does General Duke keep from responding to people who want to brag about, literally, anything, with a bit of a wink? “Oh, you have two million followers on Instagram? That’s nice. I don’t post many pictures but there is one photograph, lying on the moon, of me and my kids.”
“Yes, that is a nice Rolex. I don’t really go for brand name stuff, unless you count my hometown wanting to name an elementary school after me. My friend Buzz Aldrin has one in Virginia.”
“Oh, you created Facebook? That’s pretty cool; I drove a car on the moon.”
Conversely, we know his tenacity wasn’t always about super-achievement. “Well, I spent 71 hours on the moon when I was 36. It was kind of challenging to know where to go in my career and my goals after that, but go ahead and tell me about your mid-life crisis.”
As classy as General Duke is, I’m sure he never said, or even thought, any of those things, so I’m happy to be sassy for him in retrospect.
Naturally, one need not walk on the moon to be a hero to Poppy. I also have great admiration for any person who can read a disagreeable social media post without flaming the poster and calling him/her a bunch of socially trendy -ist names.
I also love every adoptive parent, ever. Particularly the foster mom in Texas I just heard about who adopts orphans in need of organ transplants because they are not eligible for treatment unless they have a home. She is equally prepared and fortified to care for children who will have a lifetime of special needs, or whom she may grieve as quickly as they become family, just to give them the chance.
I might be good enough to gift someone a kidney, but she is next-level love. No contest.
My point, I guess, is that I don’t always subscribe to the worldly view of heroes. There are probably thousands of people worthy of our praise and thanks, and we will never know them because they don’t do it for Likes.
Some days, the bravest thing I do is open my e-mail. Someone is always upset at something and it appears I’m never going to grow a writer’s thick skin. Honestly, I don’t know how people truly in the public eye get out of bed in the morning. Outside of that, I suppose I could confess that half the stuff I do as a mom, I do for Likes. But, just from that one kid, and I’m only successful about 50 percent of the time.
So, like Charlie, I will continue look to the universe in wonder, and be grateful for the little blue ball that seems to be hanging in the blackness of space. And I will also be grateful there are still many blobs of carbon-based matter on it, however unfamous, who have the Right Stuff. To them, I say, “Godspeed.”