Our class has been studying outer space, specifically the planets, the past couple weeks in science. When I was in elementary school we learned there were nine planets in our little solar system; Pluto being the farthest from the sun. Now the students learn that there are actually eight planets, Neptune being the farthest, and that once-upon-a-fairly-recent-time, scientists mistakently counted Pluto as a planet.
I can't help but feel sorry for Pluto. One day it's "Pluto is the farthest and coldest planet in the solar system." The next day it's, "Pluto? Oh that?! Yeah, that's just a hunk of ice." Losing it's planetary status: the ultimate demotion. Poor, poor Pluto.
I know it's rediculous to feel sorry for a planet, a lifeless one at that, but I can't help it. Feeling sorry for inanimate objects has been a compulsion of mine since childhood. As a kid I use to eat the orange and banana popsicles, even though I didn't really like the taste, because I hated to think of them sitting there all alone in the freezer thinking they were somehow inferior to their cherry and lime counterparts. My heart would positively break when I even thought about rotten little boys who would strap some innocent doll to a homemade soda bottle rocket. Oh, the humanity!
For such things as my popsicle eating habits and compassion for toys, I blame the book, The Velveteen Rabbit. I've known fully grown, well educated adults to get choked up reading this book about a stuffed, synthetic lagamorpha. And children are suppose to enjoy it?! I blame shows like The Adventures of Timmy the Tooth Brush, Veggie Tales, and Toy Story which gave inanimate objects voices, names, and worst of all, personalities. No wonder we're such a materialistic society!
In short, thanks to the media, I can't help but feel sorry for poor Pluto! Pluto, I salute you. You will always be a planet in my heart.
