A couple of nights ago, I looked up between the big elms at the edge of the yard and noticed the Big Dipper. It seemed lower in the northern sky than what I remembered but I doubt that it’s sagging. Probably just the time of year. And maybe a touch of how some things just seem different after several decades of time pass by and the sky we remember at age seven might not fully jive up with seventy.

I still remember how excited I was when my older brother Paul pointed it out to me back then on our farm in Todd County, Kentucky. Even though I’d heard grownups talking about the Big Dipper, I’d never been able to actually perceive its shape. Paul was the first person who actually took the time and had the patience to show me.

Out past the big maples of the front yard, we stood in the gravel driveway on a summer night. I stood beside him, several inches shorter. He put one arm around my shoulder and pointed the other toward the sky. I looked along his upstretched arm to the heavens beyond his extended finger. I stared and studied. “See,” he said softly, pointing to the left, “there’s where the handle starts. Then it comes over and down a little.” He continued moving his finger very slightly, “See how it drops down, then comes over and goes back up? That’s the dipper part.”

“Show me again.” He did. I followed the projected trace of his finger from left to right, down, across, up, and then back to the handle. “One more time, please.” He never huffed or scoffed; he just repeated the motions and explanation.

Suddenly, for the first time ever, I could see it! Wow! It looks just like a big dipper! Later, Paul also pointed out the Little Dipper.

To this day, those are the only two constellations that make sense to me. All the others seem dramatically contrived, imposing a preposterous proposition onto invented interpretations. “Sorry, man, I don’t see a bear or a bull or a hunter or a medieval princess riding on a goat-horned horse while holding a lantern.” I suppose it’s the result of an impaired imagination.

Whatever the impairments, having a patient teacher made all the difference in the world. It still does.