CO2 or You

I became an impostor at the age of eleven when I entered the local science fair and won second prize. You see, it wasn’t my science project and it wasn’t my prize.

It had been my father’s idea to set up a mini-lab for the production of C0₂ and he could not have been more intent. Borrowing test tubes and Bunsen burners from his own lab in Washington D.C. he spent days assembling everything we needed. There were clamps and hoses and beakers and flasks and it looked just like a contraption from Dr. Seuss. But it wasn’t funny.

I could not grasp the scientific concept no matter how many times my father explained it. When I realized he was becoming frustrated, I pretended to get it and I pretended to care. I hid my bewilderment, my apathy, and my despair.

This was the same way I felt about my music lessons. My father insisted I play the violin, an instrument he loved but for which I felt no affinity. Holding the violin felt awkward and uncomfortable and I disliked the feeling of pressing my fingers on the strings. My teacher was a somber and distant fellow who, during my lessons, must have been bored out of his mind.

After several years of being an uninspired student, I told my mother I was miserable and she convinced my Dad to let me stop. My father agreed on the condition I take up the clarinet, which I did with the same lack of passion. A year later my father admitted defeat and I was able to quit the school band where I had been only pretending to blow.

The day of the science fair arrived and my father and I drove to the nearby high-school to set up my project. The auditorium was crammed with excited students walking around checking out the competition. That evening the judges would come to examine the projects and choose three winners.

I couldn’t fall asleep that night. I was petrified the judges might ask me to explain how to produce CO₂ and I hadn’t the slightest idea. I was mortified at the thought of having my ignorance revealed in public. I imagined my father’s pain and anger if the truth came out.

The next morning we drove back to the high school. My father was very eager to see which projects had won. I followed him slowly into the auditorium and there it was-a big blue ribbon hung on my project-it had won second prize!

My father was thrilled, and I was walking the plank.

The judges made their way over to us wearing big smiles and the one closest to me said the fatal words, “Well, young lady, can you explain to us how CO₂ is made?”

Paralyzed I began stuttering some vague answer and impatiently my father stepped in. He impressed them with his complex and detailed explanation and after offering congratulations they snapped my photo and moved on. I guess they assumed I was too excited to talk.

A year went by and it was time again for the annual science fair.

This time I didn’t consult with my parents. My father seemed taken aback but I squelched my feelings of guilt. I found a book on science projects and chose one I could relate to. It explained how to train a goldfish.

I bought a large glass bowl and a little goldfish. Twice a day I would gently tap on the right side of the bowl and drop in a few grains of fish food. By the end of the week the goldfish would swim right over as soon as I tapped and look for the food.

My project was stress-free, simple, and fun. I was so relieved and I could not have cared less if I won. The next morning I carefully brought my fish to school along with a colorful painting of sea creatures I had made for the background. That night I fell asleep in a second.

The next morning when I spotted the third place blue ribbon, I was very happy. But even without it I felt like a winner. With God’s help I had managed to vanquish the impostor.