By: Rosemary Boeglin <[email protected]>

I’m in a cloud right now. Literally. And although it is fantastic in theory, I wish the magic of certain things, like being in a cloud, was still fantastic to me.

As I look out of my 12” x 16” window, smudged with sticky, almost slimy goo left from a passenger before me, all I see is white. Which is enchanting, I guess. But one cannot talk herself into being enchanted, so in reality, it’s just sort of monotonous.

My sadness about not being charmed by the cloud stems from the five-or-so year old girl sitting directly behind me.

I’m not going to lie and say her preciousness or naivety inspired me. Because it didn’t. What got me about her was that, after getting my attention by repeatedly kicking the back of my chair, she looked out of the window and fussed about being in a cloud.

She even squealed, much to my chagrin, that she was going to tell so-and-so about floating in a cloud when she got home. Her mom was pleased, of course, because all parents think their own kids are cute.

She did make me think, though, about how I’m growing up and how science class has made me into a probably more boring person.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for the Scientific Revolution and all (otherwise I would have to be writing on paper with a pen—way tough), but explanations make for less magic. And less magic makes for a more boring life.

It’s like Santa Claus. If you calculate the travel time, it’s just not possible. But, if you don’t know how to do that, or don’t have a calculator, it’s a pretty rad deal. Most (Christian) kids just accept it as a fact of life: they take naps after Kinder-Care, if they cut something the other person gets to pick the first piece and Santa’s reindeers fly him around the world in one night to deliver presents to every kid by means of descending through chimneys.

I know we’re not actually sitting on a cloud along with the rest of the Care-Bear gang, but the girl behind me doesn’t. And I’m jealous.

I learned in eighth grade science with Ms. Wiist (shout out) that clouds are water droplets, and we, therefore, cannot sit on them. There goes my plane-ride fun.

The bigger picture, it seems, is that superhuman explanations are more exciting than scientific ones. For example, religion.

A big puppet master in the sky is basically silly, but 86 percent of all people in this world are religious, according to the World Christian Encyclopedia.

Just as I’m jealous of the girl sitting behind me, I’m envious of people who are sure of their faith. It must be fantastic to think that all of us are just passing through, and Heaven is merely a few big clouds away.

But my scientific education does not permit me to accept ideas so readily. Where’s the proof? Where are the statistics? How do you know?

Religion doesn’t exactly follow the scientific method. My hypothesis is never paired with a conclusion gathered from data, which, to someone educated in the modern scientific era, would mean that a conclusion could not be drawn.

Honestly, it would never be acceptable to write “faith” as your evidence on a lab report, turn it in and expect a good grade.

Although this is all true, there is a sort of magic about knowing that this isn’t it. All of this isn’t your only shot to do anything useful, love or be happy. It’s just a precursor to a supernatural existence with the puppet master up in the sky.

Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is not boring.

But since I was scientifically educated, I am boring because I cannot accept “faith” as an appropriate answer to the biggest question of life. I blame the public education system for that, by the way. Rosemary Boeglin is a reporter for the HiLite. Contact her at [email protected].