When I was in elementary school, I was very interested in science

Host:
The room was small, cluttered, and filled with the kind of chaotic beauty only experimentation could produce. Glass beakers reflected soft light, bottles of colored liquids lined the shelves like sleeping rainbows, and a faint scent of sulfur and soap hung in the air — the aroma of curiosity itself.

It wasn’t a laboratory in the strict sense — more like a transformed bathroom, as if imagination had stolen a corner of the world and claimed it for wonder.
Through the narrow window, afternoon sunlight poured in, painting everything in warm amber hues.

Jack stood by the sink, holding a small glass vial up to the light. The liquid inside shimmered — uncertain, fragile, alive. His grey eyes were thoughtful, half-amused. Across from him, perched on the edge of the counter, Jeeny watched with a gentle smile, her brown eyes glowing with the warmth of someone watching a child remember something sacred.

She spoke softly, as if not to disturb the air:

"When I was in elementary school, I was very interested in science already. I must have been ten or eleven years old. I started experiments with chemistry sets at my home in Mexico. I was able to borrow a bathroom and convert it to a laboratory. My parents supported it. They were pleased. My friends just tolerated it." — Mario J. Molina

Jeeny:
(smiling)
Can you imagine that? A ten-year-old turning a bathroom into a lab?

Jack:
(chuckling softly)
It’s perfect, isn’t it? The birthplace of curiosity — porcelain, pipes, and potential explosions.

Jeeny:
And his parents let him! That’s what amazes me most. They didn’t scold him for the mess or the smell — they trusted the spark.

Jack:
Yeah. Support disguised as silence. They didn’t just allow it; they encouraged it.

Jeeny:
That’s how every great scientist starts — with permission to be ridiculous.

Jack:
(smiling faintly)
And the world tolerating you until it’s forced to admire you.

Jeeny:
Exactly. He says, “My friends just tolerated it.” That’s how you know he was already outgrowing the limits of his world.

Jack:
And redefining what play meant. For him, play wasn’t pretending — it was discovering.

Jeeny:
And discovery, at that age, is a form of love.

Host:
The light flickered, catching the edges of the vials, scattering reflections across the tiled walls. In those fractured rays, the little bathroom felt less like a domestic space and more like a cathedral of curiosity — where a boy first prayed to science and was answered with wonder.

Jack:
You know what I love about this story? It’s not about success. It’s about encouragement.

Jeeny:
Exactly. It’s about being seen — even when what you’re doing looks strange to everyone else.

Jack:
That’s what childhood genius really is — not brilliance, but persistence unpunished.

Jeeny:
(smiling)
Persistence unpunished. I like that.

Jack:
It’s true. Every child has curiosity. But only a few have the freedom to keep it alive long enough for it to mature.

Jeeny:
Because the world teaches you to outgrow it.

Jack:
And the few who don’t — those are the ones who change the atmosphere. Literally, in Molina’s case.

Jeeny:
(pausing thoughtfully)
Yes. He started with bubbles and backyard experiments — and ended up saving the ozone layer.

Jack:
A straight line from bathtub to stratosphere.

Jeeny:
(laughing softly)
Exactly.

Host:
Outside, a bird sang somewhere beyond the window, its sound clear against the quiet hum of life. The room glowed gently, not with artificial brilliance, but with the memory of innocence — the kind of light that only appears when curiosity meets encouragement.

Jeeny:
What do you think made him different from the other kids?

Jack:
He didn’t let normalcy seduce him.

Jeeny:
(smiling faintly)
That’s one way to put it.

Jack:
He chose fascination over fitting in. Most people at that age just want to belong — he wanted to understand.

Jeeny:
And maybe that’s what separates inventors from imitators — the willingness to be tolerated rather than celebrated.

Jack:
Yeah. You can’t serve curiosity and conformity at the same time.

Jeeny:
(quietly)
And that’s why his story feels so pure. There’s no ego yet, no ambition — just wonder.

Jack:
That’s what real science should always feel like.

Jeeny:
Like you’re ten years old again, lighting the world from the inside out.

Host:
The sound of bubbling filled the air as Jack poured a clear liquid into a small flask, just to watch it fizz. A curl of vapor rose — harmless, simple, beautiful. Both of them laughed softly, the way children do when a magic trick works.

Jack:
You know, it’s easy to romanticize scientists — imagine them as detached geniuses. But moments like this… this is where they’re born.

Jeeny:
Yes. In rooms too small for dreams that big.

Jack:
And with parents who understand that mess is the price of imagination.

Jeeny:
(smiling)
You just described every great childhood — or every great rebellion.

Jack:
Same thing.

Jeeny:
That’s what I love about him. There’s no bitterness in his memory. No complaint about obstacles. Just gratitude — and a bit of humor.

Jack:
He’s telling us that encouragement is more revolutionary than invention.

Jeeny:
Exactly. Without encouragement, even genius dissolves in self-doubt.

Jack:
And with it, even the smallest spark can alter the sky.

Host:
A gentle rumble of thunder rolled outside, as if the sky itself were remembering what curiosity can do. The air smelled faintly of ozone — fitting, somehow, like the universe was acknowledging its debt to the boy who once borrowed a bathroom to dream.

Jeeny:
You think that’s why he mentioned his parents first? Because they gave him space to fail?

Jack:
Absolutely. That’s the foundation of every great experiment — permission to fail without punishment.

Jeeny:
And every great human being, really.

Jack:
(smiling softly)
True. He didn’t need wealth or privilege — just belief.

Jeeny:
That’s what I wish more kids had today — not resources, but trust.

Jack:
You can’t download trust. You have to give it.

Jeeny:
And once you do, it multiplies.

Jack:
Like a chain reaction.

Jeeny:
Exactly. That’s the chemistry he was really experimenting with — encouragement as catalyst.

Jack:
And curiosity as combustion.

Host:
The light outside dimmed, turning the glass bottles into tiny suns of orange and amber. The room seemed to hum — not from electricity, but from the invisible energy of discovery still echoing after all these years.

Jeeny:
It’s funny, isn’t it? The same story could have gone differently. A different parent, a stricter teacher, one careless comment — and maybe he’d have packed up the chemistry set forever.

Jack:
That’s the fragility of destiny — how easily wonder can be extinguished.

Jeeny:
(smiling softly)
Or how gloriously it can survive.

Jack:
(quietly)
Maybe that’s what science really is — the persistence of wonder against all odds.

Jeeny:
Yes. The faith that the unknown isn’t frightening — just unfinished.

Jack:
That’s beautiful, Jeeny.

Jeeny:
It’s true. Every child with a question mark is a scientist in disguise.

Jack:
And every adult who protects that question becomes a teacher, whether they mean to or not.

Jeeny:
Or a parent who just smiles and says, “Sure, take the bathroom.”

Host:
They both laughed, softly — the kind of laughter that comes not from amusement, but from recognition. The light from the window faded into twilight. The little room grew dim, but somehow it didn’t feel dark — just ready for the next spark.

Host:
And in that quiet moment, Mario J. Molina’s words shimmered through the air — not merely as memory, but as map:

That science begins not in laboratories,
but in living rooms, backyards, and borrowed bathrooms —
where imagination meets permission.

That curiosity is not a privilege,
but a right —
and encouragement the oxygen that lets it burn.

That the difference between genius and indifference
is often nothing more than a parent’s nod,
a teacher’s smile,
a friend’s tolerance.

And that every experiment,
no matter how small or strange,
is a quiet rehearsal
for the courage to change the world.

The room exhaled,
the bottles gleamed,
and as Jack and Jeeny stepped out into the dusk,
the faint smell of ozone and hope lingered —
a reminder that the light of discovery
is strongest
when it begins at home.