I was talking to Matilda yesterday about how people view her. What, did she think, was the one thing that she did or was interested in that she thought people identified as her main interest? Without missing a beat she replied, “Art.” She said the same thing about her mom. Art is the one thing that most defines her.

So I asked her what she thought about me. I fully expected movies, books or music. Those are the things I think I spend the most time talking about. The fact that people called me “The Movie Guy” for so long had to come with a reason. Right?

I guess I was wrong. Matilda responded, “Either computers or science.”

Interesting. True, I am interested in both, without a doubt. But how could this eagle-eyed seven-year-old have so thoroughly picked up on it?

Computers are an obvious choice. After all, I spend most of my time on a computer. Too much time, in fact. Morning, noon and night I’m working on this damned machine. Either on freelance work, writing, Intercot or just plain goofing off. She heard the conversations I had when I was toiling over what to do about the old crappy machine and planning the future with the machine I have now.

But science? Where did she get that? I’m not denying the interest. It’s there, overtly to be sure. However, where did she pick up on it? I encourage all of her scientific interests, that’s true. When she wanted to take part in Mad Science, I applauded. When she gets home from each session I grill her about all the details. Is it because I’m encouraging her or is it because I’m jealous? Hard to be sure.

But I don’t think in our daily home life I talk about science incessantly. Do I? How much is my interest a part of my life? It’s true that when I was investigating a satellite service to make my living hell in this rented rat hole a little easier the one thing I refused to live without was the NASA channel. It’s true that when I have the chance to watch the NASA channel I will vegetate in front of it for hours watching two anonymous suited individuals fitting the ISS with some random coupling. And if there’s nothing of note currently occurring on the NASA channel I will watch the tracking of the ISS or random images of Earth from space. I can’t help it.

And it’s true that I like to point out random scientific facts. When Matilda is interested in something, I always ask if she knows how it works. We try to appreciate the world not only for its aesthetic beauty but also for its mechanical and atomic beauty. I admit to being fascinated by the structure of a blade of grass or the sociology of squirrels.

But do I make these things obvious? I didn’t think so. I could swear that I spend more time discussing the finer points of the bridge in “God Only Knows” than I do the finer points of Quantumelectrodynamics. Both are great interests of mine.

For that matter, I’m not the geeky dad who takes apart the TV to see how it works and I certainly do run experiments in my kitchen. Of course, when we were at the Science Center last and watched a presentation on comets, I suppose she could tell by my rapt attention and complaints about inaccuracy that maybe, perhaps, there was an interest there.

More importantly I think Matilda has keyed into my insatiable curiosity. If something clicks with me, I need to understand it. And I think she knows, somehow, that if I had it all to do over again I think I would find a way to become a scientist.

You can look at a scientist in any way you wish. Most people just find them weird and boring. But hardly. My personal opinion is that any scientist has a brilliant mind that has never lost a child’s curiosity. You may see them working on a vastly complex issue involving concepts that you don’t understand. But I think they see themselves a merely trying to figure something out. Trying to understand.

And that’s where my late quest for scientific understanding comes in. I want to understand things. Whether it’s the function of a quasar to the purpose of a neutrino, I want to know. Sure, it takes me a long time to understand, but I really do want to get to the heart of the matter.

Scientists should have the accolades of Rock Stars. They may not have the glamour of the good life, but what they do is fascinating. More so than Hoobastank. They see life in so many different layers than we do. And yet we mock them and run away.

I want to be a scientist. But I never will be. Perhaps one of my kids will be. But, to be honest, I’ll be happy if they’re dog groomers.

But, in the very least, if I can convince them to look beneath the layers and seek understanding, I’ll be happy. I can already see it happening. Can I take credit? Probably not. But it doesn’t matter. Because right now, in many ways, Matilda shares my quest.

And that’s a good thing.