In the summer of 1986, my 14-year-old brother carried me on his shoulders so I could be a little closer to the sky. And that early morning, we watched Comet Halley's amazing transit which is only visible from Earth every 76 years.
Back in class, my brother's Geography teacher asked if anyone had a living relative who had seen the comet in its last perihelion. My brother raised his hand:
- “I do! My great-grandfather saw the comet when he was ten.”
The teacher walked across the classroom, stood next to my brother about to award him, and said to the class:
- “Look at this. Here we have an extraordinary case: a great-grandfather who has managed to see the comet twice.”
- “Oh… No teacher, just once”, said my brother.
- “But how? Didn’t you just tell us he is still alive?”
- “Yes, but he is blind now.”
The teacher scolded my brother for making a joke about something so serious. But there was never anything so solemn as that last vacation at grandpa’s village when my brother raised my great-grandfather’s hand, AKA “Pedro The Blind”, taking the tips of his fingers through the sky as he described the alignment of the stars and the impassable transit of the comet to him while Grandpa Pedro opened his white eyes to the sky looking for those millions of fireflies in his infinite darkness.
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