I saw a headline this morning: Scientists make new discovery. Pluto is not a planet.
I said to myself, well, even I knew that. Everybody knows. Pluto is a dog.
Pluto is a great dog, as a matter of fact. A classic dog, an entertaining dog, a loyal friend to Mickey and Minnie and Donald and Huey, Dewey and Louie.
Pluto will always be a dog.
Seriously, I know they're talking about Pluto the planet. No. 9. The one way, way out there.
Now scientists say Pluto isn't a planet. It isn't big enough. It's something, but not a planet exactly.
My attitude is: Who says?
It's been a planet my entire life. I learned that in the third grade. Might be the only thing I remember from the third grade.
It's the cold one, the farthest from the sun and, yes, it's the small one.
But no, you can't unmake Pluto as a planet.
Long ago I learned it was a planet and I see no reason to unlearn it. Why should I?
Somebody somewhere, some mysterious person who answers to no one and seems to have dictatorial power sets new standards for planets and all of a sudden one of the original nine is dropped?
All of a sudden Ringo isn't a Beatle? All of a sudden somebody changes a standard and Curly isn't a stooge, or Zeppo isn't a Marx, or Ari isn't one of the "Entourage"?
Actually I don't know why Pluto got itself unmade as a planet. I didn't even read the rest of the story, frankly.
The headline was all I needed to see to know I'm rejecting this attempt at revisionist history.
That's My Word.
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