Born Gay

Part I

Hi. My name is Carlton, but my grandmother decided when I was born that since I was 'the third', she was going to call me, Tré. I was always grateful for that, even though we were never close - it was truly a blessing since my parents were going to nickname me, "Little Buddy", after my father, who was known as "Buddy".
As long as I can remember, I had a vision in my head - a vision of two men at some sort of alter, wearing white tuxedo jackets and black dress pants. One man had dark hair and the other man had blonde hair. I knew right away that the blonde haired man was me - but in the future. Now this vision was completely contradictory to everything I had seen in magazines, seen on TV, commercials or saw in photos in family albums.
Just before my third birthday, my mother was tucking me into bed, like she did every night. We were saying 'goodnight' and the vision popped into my head again. "Mom, why can't two men get married?" I asked her honestly and suddenly. "Well....they can." was the response. My mother wasn't quite sure what to say. "Well - why don't they?", the question could have not been more innocent and honestly inquisitive. "When you grow up, you'll start liking girls and then you'll understand" my mother said with a cheerful wink in her eye.
Well......it's 43 years later, I'm grown up and I still don't understand.
But that doesn't matter anymore. My late teens and early twenties were the "explorative" years. At 19, I attempted suicide. A lame attempt, but an attempt none-the-less. I was at the beach with my two best friends - "Mark", a tennis pro who women went crazy over and "Sam", a slick, fast talking womanizer who looked like cross between George Clooney and Journey's Steve Perry (trust me - it's better than it sounds) - when I noticed that the beach house next to ours was full of college lacrosse players who at 2:30 am, were drunk and decided that it would be "hysterical" if they took off all of their clothes and paraded around the front porch completely naked.
The fact that I was mesmerized by this assured me that my worst fears had been confirmed - I was gay.
I've often heard of people having near death experiences - where their life flashes before there eyes during some sort of trauma. Well, my life flashed before mine. Only I saw the future - rejection from the only people, at that time, I trusted and loved most. I was certain, from all of the "fag jokes" at holidays told by my ignorant uncle and cousins, to the apparent pleasure of my parents, that my family would completely reject me. That was too much to bear...
I went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. I found what looked like several bottles of prescription drugs... without thinking, I opened a bottle, swallowed all of the contents with a big swig of water. I closed the medicine cabinet, left the house and walked to the ocean.

Part II

When I got to the beach, it was low tide. Approximately 3:00 am, the rising barely-crescent moon over the water made the Atlantic Ocean look inky - like an oil tanker just spilled a trillion gallons of raw crude off shore. At least that's how I remember it. But something wasn't right. I should have been terrified, instead I was overwhelmed by how beautiful the moon was, the gentle waves, the enormity of the black ocean. Instead of feeling the fear of what were going to be my final moments of life, I felt as if I had simply decided to go swimming at night - in an environment few people get to experience. The beauty of that moment with the moonlight dancing on the waves in almost pitch darkness, lured me into the water - and I swam out on that 'bumpy road' of moonlight. I was the captain of my high school varsity swim team, so I had an excellent swim stroke. Even so, I ended up taking in large amounts of seawater on those first few strokes. I stopped to cough/choke out the water, when I turned around to see exactly how far out I had gotten. As I treaded water, I noticed how the moonlight was illuminating the facades of all of the boardwalk hotels and closed businesses - like I was looking at a seaside ghost town. Then it hit me. I was supposed to be drowning myself in some dramatic 'A Star Is Born' moment and instead I'm taking in the beauty of this 3:00 AM swim. "What the hell am I doing?" I muttered to myself and I began to swim back to shore.
The swim back was not as pleasant, which I'm certain worked in my favor. Feeling like somewhat of an ass, I took in more seawater as I sprinted to the beach. The water seemed to become colder, not as beautiful - scary. I became freaked out about what nocturnal sea creatures were going to be clamping down on my toes as I stirred up the water with my kick. The opening scene from "Jaws" began to loop in my mind. Somewhat panicked, I made it to the beach, walked out of the water and vomited. The seawater in combination with the large amounts of vodka I had consumed earlier, forced my stomach to involuntarily rid itself of it's contents.
The next morning, I woke up having to vomit again, which I did twice. Both times, I noticed quite a bit of blood. My friend, Mark (the tennis pro) and I went to grab some breakfast. I thought eating would make me feel better, but it didn't. I was glad that I survived that night, but feeling like an ass that I almost allowed outside influences to determine my worth and my future (or lack thereof). I was embarrassed - I had let myself down.
However more than that, I was instinctively aware that I had taken the first steps of my own personal journey. The sinking feeling inside of me was either the effects of a really bad hangover or the realization that I had a lot of hard work ahead of me. I knew that I had to begin to accept myself.
Something about that image of the inky black water, the moon low on the horizon, the waves creating the illusion of a rippled, lunar highway, made me realize that whatever I'm faced with, I can handle it. Although I was extremely vulnerable and alone on that beach, I had never felt so connected to the beauty, fragility and power of life. Something that night was letting me know that it may not make sense now, but no matter what happens, I am here. I am me... and I am supposed to be.

Part III

It's amazing to me how much outside influences play a part in determining how we, as human beings, conduct ourselves. What we wear, the way we speak, who we're friends with, who we're not friends with, what car we drive - it's all determined by how we see ourselves and wanting to be a part of something... to essentially fit in.
I grew up in Baltimore, Maryland and had a relatively 'normal' childhood - actually, no - I take that back. 30% of my childhood was wonderful. 60% was a constant struggle, 10% was 'normal'. I am the oldest of two boys, my parents were 20 years old when I was born. My mother claims she was in labor for a total of 30 minutes - I guess I had to get out of there. Maybe that was the first sign? I even know where I was conceived - a drive in theater in Timonium, MD which later would become a business park where I would work for a civil engineering firm. From my desk, I'd often look out the window and think, "I've literally gone nowhere... "
Growing up, my parents, brother and I lived in a two bedroom apartment in the northern part Baltimore City, "Charm City" it was nicknamed then. I was aware then that if a city has to give itself a nickname, then the reality must be the complete 180 degree opposite of the nickname it gave itself. Years later, a young director by the name of John Waters would perfectly capture this irony on film.
As a kid, I spent weekends with my grandparents. There were lot's of kids my age to play with. The apartment complex my parents, brother and I lived in was mostly old people - no kids, except the ones that would come visit their grandparents. My grandparents were amazing - my grandfather was dry and hilarious. "Hey Pop, what size shoe do you wear?" I asked, moments before they took me shoe shopping. "Well, I wear a 9 but a 10 feels so good I buy an 11...." I also remember his infamous, 'birds and bees' talk we had one Saturday afternoon. He sat me down in a chair in the living room and said, "Now as you begin to get older, your armpits will start to stink, your crotch will start to stink and you'll want to go marry a girl like your cousin Allison." I thought it was the funniest damn thing anyone had ever said to me. Allison was really pretty but...
My grandmother, Frances (not the one who named me) was truly a soul mate. Not the kind people tend to think of as the person they marry, of course, but the actual true meaning of the term. We had a bond that was unique - I can't explain it but many of my family members, including my mother, were extremely jealous of it. My grandmother was a very attractive woman who captivated men throughout her life. She was completely unaware of her magnetism, yet she was still somewhat vain, in that she always looked and dressed as if she were being greeted by the press. She worked as a secretary at the Baltimore Polytechnic Institute - a college prep high school, which I would eventually attend.
As I would pass his classroom on my way to various classes, Mr. "H", a history teacher who, out of respect shall remain anonymous, would pull me aside, into his darkened classroom and with booze on his breath and with one eye lid half shut, would comment on how beautiful my grandmother was, particularly her chest. He would eventually turn away from me, slowly walk to the window, shades drawn and let out an exasperated sigh... I would then leave him to his misery. Sure it was uncomfortable - creepy, even and the smell of stale whiskey emanating from his pores didn't do much to ease my discomfort. But, I 'got it' - she was a knockout and I was proud to be her grandson.

Part IV

When I was 6 1/2 years old, my brother Christopher was born. What a traumatic experience that was. For almost 7 years I was the center of attention (good and bad) and now suddenly I had competition. I came home from school one day to find my mother finally home from the hospital. She took my hand and said, "let's go see your little brother." I reluctantly reached out to her, she grabbed my hand and we walked into what had been up to that moment, my bedroom. In the crib was a tiny bundle of "my brother". So small, so quiet, born with a full head of hair. I looked at my mother and said, "he's ugly - let's go" and I pulled her out of the room.
I still spent weekends at my grandparents house which was great. There was such a simplicity and peacefulness there - I didn't have to hear my parents late at night from my bedroom, fighting about money, screaming at each other, breaking dishes, my mother criticizing my father for him not being able to afford a house of our own. I loved weekends at my grandparents house.
Maybe it was because there were not many kids in my neighborhood or that I was spending too much time with my grandmother, but my father had decided that I needed more interaction with men. OK by me. I was literally forced into The Boy Scouts of America. I was a good kid, a good son. So, without protest, I gave this Boy Scouts thing a whirl.
My parents took me shopping for camping equipment, which was not fun at all. I felt like I was being shipped off to war. My parents didn't have much money so everything I needed for the monthly camping trips ended up being on the cheap side. On these camping trips, I tried to hide my dining plates and utensils. My 'mess kit' had pictures of Lassie on it, which was beyond humiliating. "You have LASSIE ON YOUR PLATE?", screamed one scout, prompting a deafening silence and head turn of everyone within ear shot. One older kid came up to me and said, "you're new right?" I said, "yes". He then proceeded to wipe charcoal lighter fluid all over my shirt. I was standing next to an open fire as he did this.

Part V

It was in the Scouts that I first learned about boys engaging in homosexual behavior. Interesting that they are so adamant about not allowing gays in their group. I guess they're very selective. I, however, did not make the cut. I was painfully shy, quiet, had low self esteem since I was very skinny. The ones having sex with each other were a little older and very handsome. I was too young, too skinny, too unattractive. So I felt more comfortable bunking with the troop 'bed-wetter' and the troop 'crybaby', who smelled like baby powder and onions. Not sexy...
After obtaining Tenderfoot status, I decided that this group of spoiled, elitist brats was too much to take, especially since I wasn't gettin' any. I quit The Boy Scouts.
Before my Boy Scouts of America experience, I had a typical, all American male, boyhood fascination with figure skating. I loved the Winter Olympics - the international spirit, everyone overcoming their differences to come together as one - the human species on planet Earth.
I was 12 years old when I became a fan of Olympic figure skating. Dorothy Hamill rocked the rink in the 1976 Winter Games in Innsbruck, Austria. For my 12th birthday, I wanted ice skates and I wanted to learn how to ice skate. My parents, for some inexplicable reason, fought me on this. For a month leading up to my birthday, I begged and pleaded for ice skates, but I always heard the same answer, "No... !"
I said before, I was a good kid. A very good kid. I always got A's on my report card, I never talked back, I went to the store and bought cigarettes for my mother, even though I hated doing it. Actually, one time after buying the cigarettes for my mother, I took 50 cents from the change and bought a gold fish. When I got home and showed my mom, she took the goldfish from me, pulled me into the bathroom and flushed my goldfish down the toilet. That certainly showed me.
I had blocked that traumatic memory from my childhood. My mother called me one night a few years ago and in an alcohol induced, guilt ridden emotional dump session, she informed me of what she did to my goldfish. I was shaking with rage to the extent the telephone almost fell out of my hand.
My point is - I was a good kid. So, why couldn't I get the ice skates I wanted? Something felt weird about this - I couldn't place it, but looking back, I detected passive aggressive behavior. My birthday came and to my surprise, my parents handed me a big square box. It was heavy. I was confused but getting happier every second. I opened the box - the smell of the leather hit my nose like a bully's fist on the playground (but in a good way). And there they were - a brand new pair of black ice skates. Figure skates.
I was ecstatic ! That is until I looked up from the box and saw my parents faces - it was soul crushing. The look of sadness and disappointment in their eyes is something that I will never forget. After studying their faces, I looked down again at the skates. I began to notice that they looked the same as girl's skates, except they were black. I remember thinking that the other boys' skates didn't look like these - they had something called hockey skates.
This supposed celebration quickly turned into incredible confusion. Why did my parents dislike these skates so much? Why did they try to persuade me to not get them? What did I do? I must have done something to make them so upset. Then it hit me - they had been trying to change me for years. Why? What was wrong with me?
With insecurity and shame pulsing through the fabric of my being, I was too embarrassed to look at my parents. I mean, by the way they were acting, you'd think I had been begging for a sequined cocktail dress with matching handbag, for crying out loud.

Part VI

Heterosexual imagery is everywhere, as it should be, I guess. Every advertisement, whether it's on TV, in a magazine, on a billboard, whatever, features half naked women, women and men together, or women cleaning something. I never once gave this a second thought. I did however, enjoy staying up late on Saturday nights at my grandparents house. We would watch the Mary Tyler Moore show, The Bob Newhart Show, The Carol Burnett Show and then Love, American Style. Love, American Style was great because they always had shirtless men in swimsuits or semi-nude in semi-sexual situations, which for some reason, I found semi-intriguing.
As a teenager rapidly approaching puberty, my awakening desires began to creep into my subconscious. I remember my first "n.e." (nocturnal emission). It went something like this: I was at my family's swim club. I walked around the corner to find all of the male lifeguards, who, by the way, were built like brick shit-houses, standing around completely naked and showing off their penises to each other. "Mitch", the lifeguard who had the best body, also happened to have the largest penis and was proudly displaying it. A sensation came over me that I had never felt before and I promptly woke up wondering what the hell just happened to me and how soon could I feel that again. At the same moment, I realized that I just had a wet dream about naked men. Damn it! This was not good.
At 13, I saw "Star Wars" 7 times. This was the summer of 1977 and I was headed to high school after Labor Day. I learned to swim that summer and tried out for the high school swim team that winter. I made the J.V. team. The next summer, I joined the summer swim team and won the "Most Improved Swimmer" trophy. I joined the Knights of Columbus Swim Team and when I wasn't swimming at my pool in the summer, and high school in the winter, I was swimming with KCST during the spring and fall. Within one year, I had gone from not knowing how to swim at all to being a year round swimmer. Sophomore year I made the varisty team. By senior year I was voted, by my teammates, captain of the varsity squad. Later that season, I won the Maryland Scholastic Association Swim Championships I.M. relay for my team, at the Johns Hopkins University.
High School for me,was great. I had lot's of friends, I was on the varisty swim team, I had lot's of girls come to see me swim - including my mother. She was easy to spot in the stands during the diving portion. Her entire body was turned in the opposite direction of everyone else, convinced that she would witness one of the divers cracking his head open on the diving board.
There was one guy in high school who I despised. We shall call him "Billy". He would pass me in the hallways, between classes and make comments like, "Hey faggot" or other typical gems of creative genius. This was bizarre to me - I didn't appear 'gay', like the feminine Asian guy I would throw volleyballs at in gym class. It was almost like he knew my darkest secret. I knew he didn't but I tell you - that's one hell of a coincidence.
The only imagery of homosexuality I ever remember seeing growing up was 1) Gay Pride Parades on the news, showing guys in leather chaps and moustaches, dancing around on floats, 2) my mom's stack of gay porn magazines under her side of the mattress or 3) the movie, "Making Love" starring Kate Jackson and Harry Hamlin. My mom and I watched that movie on TV together (my dad was probably at work). During the portion where Harry Hamlin and Michael Ontkean undress each other and begin to go at it, my mother looks over at me and shouts out, "Isn't that WEIRD?" "Uh-huh..." I muttered as I tried to conceal my erection.

Part VII

At nineteen, I had a great job as a Lifeguard and Pool Manager/Operator at a Jewish Country Club in Baltimore County. There was quite a circuit of lifeguards in the Baltimore area and we all knew each other, hung out together and went drinking at all of the local 'hot-spots' together.
One of my best friends, Mark, was the tennis pro at the country club. He, I and another friend of ours, Sam, had all met through mutual friends and became pretty close in a relatively short period of time. In fact, we were planning on a trip to Ocean City, MD., for a long weekend. We didn't have a place to stay, but we weren't worried. We knew of a house that 5 girls were renting for the summer and if we couldn't find accommodations, we would charm our way onto their couches and floors.
The afternoon we were to leave, my dad took me to the liquor store and bought me a half gallon of vodka. Since I was underage, I didn't want to have to rely on fake I.D.'s to get us what we wanted. Dad obliged. I think he was glad that his son was going to the beach with his buddies to raise a little Hell. There was no way to know that his son, after consuming this vodka, would later that night, attempt to take his own life.
We packed the car, drove to the beach, could not find accommodations and showed up at Jenny & Kathy's (et.al.) summer rental. They were pissed at first, but they let us stay anyhow. For the entire summer, they had been living next door to a bunch of guys from the Johns Hopkins Lacrosse team and I think they were glad to have some males around who were at least pretending to be into them - even if they knew we only wanted a place to crash.
Sam, Mark and I got semi-dressed up, went to a bayside bar where 20 something's hung out and drank, and we grabbed a table and began a long evening of drinking, laughing and picking up girls - only I could have done without the 'girls' part. But I played along, like I had done for years. It was like repetitive motion syndrome...and it was starting to hurt. I did it all the time, with no passion, only because everyone else did it. For almost all of my life, I thought every one felt like I did, and that one day I would grow out of it. "When you grow up, you'll start liking girls and then you'll understand". To this day, I can still hear my mother's voice.
On our way home from the bar, after drinking too much and acting too immature to attract the women we were after, Mark said jokingly, "Hey - wouldn't it be great if we were gay? We could go home and have sex with each other!" My heart almost stopped. The roars of laughter assured me that Mark was joking, but inside, I wasn't laughing - I was hiding. Once again, I tried to push the feelings deep down, as I had been doing since I was three years old, but there wasn't room for it anymore. I was full.

Part VIII - Final

When we got back to the house, it was about 9:30pm and the girls were having a small party - and so was everyone else it seemed. I broke out the vodka and proceeded to make really strong drinks. It was a warm, typical August night and there were parties going on everywhere. After a while, Mark, Sam and I had split up and had stumbled off in our own directions, in search of what we considered to be a good time. Somehow, I ended up dancing on the median strip of Highway One, wearing nothing but a beach towel around my waist and a baseball hat with the word "Shrooms" across the front of it, no doubt to the delight of motorists passing by, as told by their honking car horns.
It was getting really late, I was running out of energy, so I stopped dancing, crossed the highway, as if I was in a life sized version of the video game 'Frogger' and started to walk back to the house. When I arrived, I noticed that the house next door looked as if the electricity had gone out, which was weird because next door - where I was staying - was completely lit up. There also were a few women gathered on the lawn of the house next door. As my eyes began to focus, I could detect naked male figures walking around the living room and then suddenly, out on the front porch! There must have been two dozen guys, all in phenomenal physical shape, completely naked, enjoying their casual exhibitionism. Obviously they were showing off and my God - they had every right to do so. Naked college lacrosse players - pecs, shoulders, abs, obliques, shadows, tan lines and patches of thick, dark hair in places where there should have been boxer shorts, were just several of many delights that should have conspired to create an evening of enchantment. But for me, that sight was just one in a long line of experiences that confirmed my worst fears. What I was feeling at that moment was indescribable. I was 'turned on' like crazy yet simultaneously feeling shame to a degree I didn't know possible. In my drunken, depressed, shame ridden, inadequate state, I knew what I had to do...
The next morning was horrible but I'm thankful that there was one. I'm truly grateful for that.
It was a long time ago, a lifetime ago - but that night on the beach was for me, the end of innocence and the beginning of a new journey, which I'm still on today. I disappeared from my group of friends and began exploring people and places where I didn't have to pretend to be something I wasn't. Sometimes one must go out into the world alone to find his true place in life. I've loved a lot, learned a lot and grown a lot. After a year or two of exploration and self discovery, I had received a letter from my friend Mark. Aside from a lot of inside jokes, he wrote about how much fun we all used to have, triggering a wave of great memories. He finished the letter with this: "We don't care who or what you are, we miss you a lot and hope you are well."
It is crystal clear to me why gay-teen suicide rates are sky high. I've been there. Hopefully, my story will reach others who are also feeling alone, confused, and isolated. My message to them - You are you, you are here and you are supposed to be.
Today, I live in California with my "dark haired" partner of 5 years, even though we've known each other for ten. We met in 1999 while doing the California AIDS Ride and from day one felt a comfortable, familial bond. My family loves him and his family loves me - his nieces and nephews even call me "Uncle Tré" - how about that? We're planning on making the Uncle 'thing' official this Fall. By the way - he's totally into the idea of a white tux jacket and black pants for wedding wear. We're keeping our fingers crossed that the California Supreme Court allows us to do so.

I lost my grandmother three years ago to a fast and intense bout of lung cancer that had spread to her bones. She was 91. How truly fortunate I am to have had my wonderful Grandmother for 44 years and in retrospect, she to have had me. Even in her last months, she turned many a gentleman's head. She was always so proud of me. I was a good kid.
The feeling that cradled me that night in the ocean, the beauty of the moonlight dancing on the waves, the one that distracted me from my premature death, has been with me ever since and it guides me to this day.
My name is Carlton, but everyone calls me Tré.

Yes, I am gay and I can assure you, I was born this way.

Is Pluto A Planet? A Tribute To Clyde Tombaugh

Is Pluto a planet? There are apparently three answers depending on who you talk to: Yes, No and Maybe. So, what do YOU think? Do you have an opinion on this recent controversy? But more importantly, why? What is your basis for your answer? Why do you think Pluto either is, isn't or possibly could be a planet?

The IAU (International Astronomical Union) in 2006 voted to downgrade Pluto from it's former 'Planetary' status. Now many in the astronomical community not only disagree, but have vowed to ignore the IAU's recent decision. Pretty intense stance, don't you think?

Why the intense feelings? Why such harsh posturing over a tiny object that is almost four billion miles away from the Sun?

In 1906, Percival Lowell, a wealthy Bostonian who founded the Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff, Arizona, began an extensive project in search of a ninth planet, named "Planet X". You see, something had been messing with Uranus' and Neptune's orbits and the only reasonable explanation was that yet another planet's gravity must be causing the chaos. So the search for "Planet X" was on. Percival Lowell spent the remainder of his life searching for this hypothetical object - which he never found. Lowell died in 1916 at the age of 61. His project was put on hold... indefinitely.

In 1929, 23 year old Kansas farm boy, Clyde Tombaugh, got a job at the Lowell Observatory, cleaning up after astronomers and doing various odd jobs. His interest in astronomy led to a new job of continuing the search for Lowell's "Planet X". He did this by systematically taking photographic images of identical portions of the night sky, two weeks apart and then comparing the photographs with something called a "blink comparator" - it enabled him to quickly switch back and forth between photographs in order to detect any moving objects. Then, in 1930 on February 18th, Clyde found something.

What is a planet? Until 2006, there was only the ancient definition. The word planet comes from the Greek word for "wander". Back in ancient times, when Earth was the center of the Universe, our ancestors noticed that seven lights moved, or wandered, through the sky - the Sun, the Moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. This is why we have seven days of the week, by the way. If you know your Latin based languages, you can figure out which planet is which day. I'll give you a hint: Sunday is the Sun, Monday (or Lunes, Luni, etc.) is the Moon, Tuesday (or Martes, Mardi, etc) is Mars, Wednesday (or Miercoles, Mercredi, etc) is Mercury, and so on... can you guess which day is represented by Venus? and Saturn?

Obviously, we don't consider the Sun and Moon as planets any longer, but for more than 15 centuries, we did. Imagine how freaked out people were when Nicholas Copernicus suggested (and Galileo Galilei proved) that Earth was NOT the center of the universe - that, in fact, the SUN was the center of it! Many people died - burned alive at the stake by the Catholic Church - for suggesting this. Galileo, who insisted that the authorities look through his telescope and "see for themselves", wasn't murdered. Instead he was put under house arrest for his discoveries. He died in 1642 - blind from observing the Sun, still imprisoned by the church.

The Catholic Church did finally apologize to Galileo... in 1992. Seriously, 1992.

In March of 1930, as word of Tombaugh's discovery spread across the globe, Venetia Burney, an eleven year old school girl in Oxford, England, interested in astronomy and classical mythology, suggested to her Grandfather that the new planet's name should be "Pluto", after the Roman God of the underworld. On March 24th, 1930, the ninth planet in our Solar System was named. Tombaugh became a celebrity, and to this day, remains so. An uneducated farm boy from Kansas - the first American to discover a planet! "Local Boy Becomes A Hero!"

Today, Tombaugh is immortalized in a stained glass window in the Unitarian Universalist Church of Las Cruces, New Mexico. Though not a religious person, I feel it's wonderful that religion and science are able to co-exist with each other, rather than certain, divisive, ideology prevalent in some of today's pro-religion/anti-science communities. To me, this is another way Tombaugh is a hero.

Pluto is far away. Really far. It's so far that we don't have any good pictures of it. Even the Hubble Space Telescope can't get a good, detailed snapshot of it. After it's discovery, speculation was that it was huge, but as more observations happened and as technology improved over the years, astronomers eventually realized that Pluto was tiny. Today we know that it's only one fifth the size of Earth's moon.

We also know that Pluto doesn't orbit the Sun in the same way as the other planets. Pluto's orbit is so eccentric that it actually crosses Neptune's orbit - no other planet does that. Pluto's orbit is also tilted - and not just slightly like Mercury's - it's a full seventeen degrees off the plane of the ecliptic. It also isn't alone... there are thousands, perhaps millions of other rocky, icy objects in it's neighborhood - what's now called the Kuiper Belt. Eris, which is bigger than Pluto, is another discovery in this belt. Does that mean that Eris is the tenth planet in our Solar System?

Could it be possible that, now that technology is slowly catching up to discovery, what we thought was a planet is just one of thousands of newly discovered bodies in a vast belt of icy objects? What about the Asteroid Belt between Mars and Jupiter? Should the objects in it be considered planets as well?

Astrophysicist Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson became the unintended center of a controversy firestorm when, during the exhibit design and construction of the Hayden Planetarium in New York, he decided to group the planets in our Solar System based on their physical properties, rather than their locations relative to one another. For instance, the four terrestrial, rocky planets - Mercury, Venus, Earth and Mars, are placed together. In a separate area, the gas giants are placed together - Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune. And finally, the icy, rocky objects in the Kuiper Belt are placed together - and Pluto is there. One day while overhearing a young child ask his mother, "Mom, where's Pluto?", a New York Times reporter broke the story that made his paper's front page and changed Dr. Tyson's life - "Pluto Not A Planet? Only In New York". Again, on the front page of the New York Times, right under the story of George W. Bush's inauguration! Dr. Tyson's mail box was flooded with hate mail - a lot of which came from angry third graders.

What is a planet? According to the IAU, for an object to be a planet it must meet three criteria: 1) it must orbit the sun, 2) it must be big enough for it's gravity to force it into a spherical shape and 3) it must have cleared it's orbit of debris. Although Pluto meets the first two criteria, it doesn't even come close to #3. As a result, Pluto was classified as a smaller object, something called a "Dwarf Planet". This brings up an interesting point - one shared by many astrophysicists and other planetary scientists: 'a chihuahua may be a small dog, but it's still a dog nonetheless'.

Which brings us back to our original question - is Pluto a planet? Again, it seems that the answer to that question depends on whom you talk to. At this point, we really don't know enough about Pluto to come up with an answer that will satisfy everyone. That, however, is about to change. In January of 2006, NASA launched "New Horizons", which is on it's way to do a fly-by of Pluto in early 2015. This small spacecraft will be the first to ever get a detailed look at the distant, icy sphere. It's equipped with three special cameras to capture details of the surface, it's make up and possible ring system. It will approach and pass Pluto, Charon, Nix, Hydra, finally Eris and then keep going, never to return back home. After the photographs are sent, after the data is analyzed, after the mission is complete, New Horizons will continue on into the vast, cold, dark emptiness of space until one day, it'll simply be a memory...

Technology is amazing. Eighty five years after a 23 year old farm boy from Kansas discovered what was once the ninth planet in our Solar System, we will finally begin to have details of this beloved yet controversial object. As fascinating as this may be, to me the most important detail of this remarkable nine year journey is that some of Clyde Tomabugh's remains - his ashes - were placed aboard the New Horizons spacecraft and are now headed to the celestial body that he discovered eighty years ago.

Whether Pluto is a planet or not isn't that important to me anymore. What I find most intriguing is that the Kansas farm boy who discovered Pluto, is on his way to find out for himself. I can't imagine a more fitting tribute.

Thank you, Clyde.