The Origin of Light

by Chris Jonnes

Those familiar with Nels know that there was a particular form of question he would ask as a precursor to a long lecture on a wide variety of topics, usually science or war. It would start something like, “Do you know how they make such and such?” or “You do understand where widgets come from, right?” If one answered “no” what followed was an hour-long dissertation on the topic. Even if one answered “yes” there was a high probability that you would not avoid the oral data dump, but at least you stood a chance.

In 1972 we lived in Afton, MN. At age 14 I was smart enough to know how to identity one of the “questions” and know that how one answered it determined the course of the next hour of your life. However, unlike my impatient siblings who always tried to shut Dad down, I was respectful and calmly submitted to countless educational monologues over the years. It is partly for this reason that I am now smarter than them. And it explains my reaction to one of the “questions” I received that year.

“You do know the origin of light, right?” There it was. Just me and Dad at home on a summer day, and he throws out the bait. I could’ve tried to dodge it and slip back into my room or get outside and do … anything. Why couldn’t I have a normal father, a divorced blue-collar alcoholic? Somehow my father was Stephen Hawking.

I said, “No.”

And so Dad was off and running. The minutes ticked by. My eyes glazed over. My mind wandered. Every once in a while I’d do a mental check-in to see if the story was interesting yet or close to conclusion. It was during one of these checks that I discovered he’d lost the thread early on and was now completely off on some tangent, talking about another topic entirely.

Forty-five minutes later he managed to bring the “conversation” to an end point that would allow me to escape. I should have known better. I did know better. But somehow I couldn’t resist the temptation to tweak him. Maybe then he’d realize how he’d just “wasted” an irretrievable chunk of a teenager’s priceless weekend. Maybe he’d see his own eccentricity. But, no, that’s not how Nels Jonnes worked.

I could’ve walked away. Instead, I said “Yeah but, Dad, what about light?”

Instead of apologizing sheepishly, his eyes lit up like WALL-E seeing EVE again. “Oh, right!” he said, suddenly remembering his original point. And off he went for another forty-five minutes, completely oblivious to his dejected son.

Oh, and the origin of light? I didn’t learn much about it that day–something to do with photons. I learned more about time.