“What’s a cargo cult?” Tyler asked.

For whatever reason, I jumped in and said, “Well, break it down, Tyler. A cult refers to a group of people who believe something that’s a nontraditional spiritual set of beliefs.”

“Very good!” Archie said. “You get an A!”

“Thank you,” I said. “But what’s the cargo part of it?”

“In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries there were still many indigenous tribes who lived in remote areas, such as islands in the South Pacific. This phenomenon began around 1885, at the height of the British colonization period, and continued on through World War II. With World War II, the Japanese and then the United States needed airstrips to land cargo planes. So they chose a few islands and sent men there to build runways and towers. When our planes began to land there, well, this was a wondrous thing to the native people who had never left the bush. They had never even dreamed about airplanes, much less the manufactured goods the soldiers gave them. After the war, the planes left and abandoned the air bases and there were no more riches coming from the sky.”

“Wait a minute, Dad,” Tyler said. “Did these people think the guys from the planes were gods?”

“Yes! And after the war, the people felt abandoned and they began to perform rituals to bring the men from the sky back to them.”

“So, while the rest of the world was wearing clothes and driving cars made in factories,” I said, “these people lived so remotely that the planes, the soldiers, with their uniforms and weapons, seemed like aliens from another planet or gods?”

“Yes!” Archie said.

“Where exactly did this happen?” Hunter said. “I want to pin it on my map.”

Hunter and Tyler shared a large wall map of the world in the hallway between their bedrooms.

“Start with the Fiji islands,” Archie said.

“We can read more at the library, if you’d like to,” I said. “I know I’d like to learn more about them.”

By seven fifteen, there wasn’t a teaspoon of dinner left in a pot or pan. Tyler and Hunter ate like starving animals, as young boys do, and even Archie had seconds of everything. They insisted on doing the dishes over my objections and order was quickly restored.

Archie and I were standing on the front porch saying good night. It was as dark as pitch outside, with only our porch lights and one streetlight to see where you were going. Tyler had challenged Hunter to a race home and they were already on their porch, calling back to us.

“Is the door open?” Tyler called.

“Yes,” Archie called out with a thumbs-up. Then he turned to me. “Thanks for a wonderful supper.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re so great with kids. Don’t you have a degree in early education?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you using it?”