“Daddy, what’s a world-view?”
“What do you mean, Hamp?” he replied, as the wispy hot breeze blew through the car windows.
They idled at a stoplight on Westheimer, Houston’s version of the Sunset Strip, but with more car alarm/stereo shops than tattoo parlors. The weather was actually gorgeous for the wintertime, the week or two every year where is was just as nice here as in LA. Mark looked around the five-lane stoplight crowd and noticed they were the only Anglos waiting for green, in this multi-ethnic melting pot of opportunity fueled by the energy business and supported by massive immigration; Houston stood as an oasis of economic hope in an ocean of recessional despair--many of these commuters were here for one thing only and it wasn’t the weather.
“What that man just said on the radio, about his world-view?”
Hamp added, “Was he talking about what the astronauts see from space?”
“No, son, a world view is how somebody looks at life, sort of like your perspective from your car seat, or how I can see green through these sunglasses.” “Except a world view is deeper than that, really.”
“It means how somebody makes sense of the things that happen to them in their life, and when life goes on almost a hundred years, like say your mommy’s grandmother, Dean; humans see a lot, Hamp, and some of it makes no sense. Like when bad guys do well and there is no Spidey to take them down.”
“Kind of like whether they believe in the Force or not?!” Hampton questioned.
The light turned, but he went on, “You’re right, son, but the Force is in the movies, and a world view is in somebody’s heart.” “You know how the skeleton holds the body together and the muscles and flesh hold onto that?” he asked. “Well, a world view is deeply held inside, and different people grow up into their worldviews, just like a body grows bigger and taller, a lot of it is affected by how they are raised.”
After a quarter mile of silent driving eastbound toward the bright buildings of the Galleria, Hampton finally adjusted in his car seat and blurted out, “but do I choose the worldview, or does the worldview choose me?”
Mark almost hit the brakes to pull over. His son often made profound statements without prompting and it caused dad to feel almost reverent, even fearful, “Man that is a great question!” “Where do you come up with such great ideas son, I want to read what you’re reading?!”
Remember that Mexican hat I showed you from the big telescope picture of the Virgo galaxy, the one that is something like 55 million light years away from earth? How beautiful and majestic it is, and all we can compare it to is a lousy sombrero? [see photo above credit: Barthel/eso.org]
“I thought that was funny!” Hampton giggled.
“People say there is no use in studying what it is like to exist. Some only see what we have on the earth; they feel that we can make telescopes made out of glass that can see things far away, but all there is is the here and now: what we are walking upon, or this car, or the food we ate for breakfast; and when you die it all ends: the world just goes black.”
“What are those people called?” “You know son, forget about memorizing labels or calling people by –isms, just focus on what they think, who they are, and how they look at things, you will be able to keep it all straight when you get to college.”
“There's a world view where people think the human race is all there is; and some people believe that what we see and hear and are taught is only given to us at a particular time, like you did not choose to go to ROE; those folks think that all the stuff we learn is able to change based on time and place.”
He went on, “and some people hold that what is good for you Hampton, is good for you and just because you say it doesn’t mean a thing. What’s good for you is OK for you and what I think is good for me.” “That is said to be relative: like your relatives are yours and my cousins are mine!” Daddy was getting as tangled up as this traffic jam. “Hampton, I feel like you choose your world view. It doesn’t grab you.” “What do you think?”
"I think that sombrero galaxy is out there in space. We can see it! It wasn’t like a drawing in a book. But I can’t touch it, how do I know it is there 55 gillion light years away?" (This was an important intersection).
“How far is a light year, Hampton?” “I don’t know, a long long long way away!” he said. “How long does daddy usually run, when he gets to?” “4 miles” Hampton quickly replied. Do you see the difference? “Could we ever get to that Mexican hat? Even on a spaceship?” daddy pressed. “Probably not.” Hampton replied. “But I still believe it is there…”
“That is called Faith, Hampy” and that is also a world view. “Faith is being sure of something you hope for, convinced of it even though you don’t see it!” Hampton smiled, like he'd heard that before.
Do you think even if you studied real hard at Rice you would be able to find out how that beautiful galaxy was made, Hampton? “Nope.” He replied. “It’s too big, too old, too amazing!” “I would just have to know it’s there.”
“Hampton, who do you think made the whole universe, including that big hat?” he asked.
“God did.” Hampton answered. “He made me too.” “Son, you are just as amazing as that cluster of stars, you are what God looks like to me.” (daddy was starting to grow salty tears in his eyes).
They were finally making their way onto the street of their home, about to turn into the driveway, when Mark continued: “Son, what makes you think God has been special to you?”
“He gave us Jesus,” Hampton responded with joy. “God sent his son;” daddy interrupted, “but I don’t think I could send you Hampy,” “but I’m not Jesus daddy, so I don’t have to!” "He did it."
“Jesus is the way we believe dad, God was so good to make a way for us to come home. Jesus came here; now we can go out towards the sombrero.”
“That makes all the difference, son, he is the way and the difference.” Daddy warmly agreed, and then threw the car into park. “It makes all the difference, Hampy.”
“So that’s a world view?” Hampton finished, and was jumping out of the car.
“Yessiree it is…” “Let’s get some lunch.” “Well done Einstein, you will make a good teacher someday”
Hampton ran up the drive yelling back: “Quarterback, dad!”
(fictional short story composed June 11, 2011)
copyright: Mark H. Pillsbury
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