I always knew I was born to fly.
I grew up during the advent of the space age. The REAL space age. A time when we left this planet and reached for the stars, using nothing more than a slide rule and black coffee. One of my very first memories is of laying on the floor watching TV. (All kids had to lay on the floor to watch TV back then. We weren't allowed on the furniture till we were in high school) We lay in a semi-circle, kids on their stomachs, resting their heads in their hands, with elbows supporting them. On the small black and white screen, we had been watching days of replays of the launch of the Saturn V rocket. (To this day, the most powerful rocket ever built by man). Numerous spokespersons demonstrated to Walter Cronkite how the rendezvous and landings were to occur, using ridiculous animations and really neat scale models. Finally the hour approached, all the adults were smoking heavily, the floor offering the kids the best view through the haze. My dad turned to me and said this is the most important thing that has ever happened and to remember it always. I was 3 years, 8 months and 20 days old. Slobbering nearby, my brother pooped his diaper and cried for his Binky, the import of the moment obviously lost on him.
All through my childhood we lived with the space race, the arms race, and the cold war. TV images, now in Magnavox living color, showed UH-1 helicopters landing in 7' tall elephant grass, in some weird place called Viet Nam. Amazing huge silver bombers left crystal clear contrails across the bitter cold Iowa winter sky, as they traveled between Strategic Air Command bases, across the northern great plains. On a schedule I will never understand, a gleaming silver bird with the word Ozark on the fuselage, flew dangerously low over our house with gear extended. Its two huge propellers drowning out all other sound, its engines visibly leaving a trail of black smoke. Every time I heard its approach, I had to run outside and look up; interestingly, my father was always looking up too. I built many models of bombers and airplanes.....my brother built a model of a naked woman so he could see her boobies.
Dad was always a huge fan of high technology, science fiction, and aviation, just to name a few. One day he came home with a bunch of official looking text books, which he seemed to indicate held great value, a value I daresay approaching the status of the Bible in our home. He hunched over them like a monk in a cell, sitting at the kitchen table for hours. He spread out great maps with crazy symbols all over them, looking like something an alien space ship dropped off. As hard as I tried, I could not make any sense of any of it....I would just look at the pictures in the tomes and try to infer what they meant.
One spring day, while attending Corpus Christi catholic elementary school, my dad shows up at the school. WTH? Why is dad here....? He has a surprise for us, he says. Ok great, I was not having so much fun in the 4th grade because I was new to the school, and some red-headed, Howdy Doody look alike named Shawn was having a field day, teasing me with the famous Tapioca taunt (A play on my last name). Dad drives us to the airport, loads us into a Cessna 172 and proceeds to fly us to town and we literally circle the school from a low altitude, as the kids are dismissed for the day. I had no idea he actually knew how to fly this thing! That was one of the coolest things ever, and greatly improved my standing at the school. But I still didn't understand fractions. My sister was born later that year.
From there, I never looked back. I devoured all things space and aviation. I couldn't get enough and I knew what I wanted to be. An Astronaut. But to be an astronaut, you have to pass 7th grade algebra class with that lesbian troll, who doesn't want to acknowledge she's gay, and hates little boys. Crap! There goes my shot at Mars.
 |
| (NASA Photo) |
I grew up during the advent of the space age. The REAL space age. A time when we left this planet and reached for the stars, using nothing more than a slide rule and black coffee. One of my very first memories is of laying on the floor watching TV. (All kids had to lay on the floor to watch TV back then. We weren't allowed on the furniture till we were in high school) We lay in a semi-circle, kids on their stomachs, resting their heads in their hands, with elbows supporting them. On the small black and white screen, we had been watching days of replays of the launch of the Saturn V rocket. (To this day, the most powerful rocket ever built by man). Numerous spokespersons demonstrated to Walter Cronkite how the rendezvous and landings were to occur, using ridiculous animations and really neat scale models. Finally the hour approached, all the adults were smoking heavily, the floor offering the kids the best view through the haze. My dad turned to me and said this is the most important thing that has ever happened and to remember it always. I was 3 years, 8 months and 20 days old. Slobbering nearby, my brother pooped his diaper and cried for his Binky, the import of the moment obviously lost on him.
 |
| (NASA Photo) |
 |
| (NASA Photo) |
All through my childhood we lived with the space race, the arms race, and the cold war. TV images, now in Magnavox living color, showed UH-1 helicopters landing in 7' tall elephant grass, in some weird place called Viet Nam. Amazing huge silver bombers left crystal clear contrails across the bitter cold Iowa winter sky, as they traveled between Strategic Air Command bases, across the northern great plains. On a schedule I will never understand, a gleaming silver bird with the word Ozark on the fuselage, flew dangerously low over our house with gear extended. Its two huge propellers drowning out all other sound, its engines visibly leaving a trail of black smoke. Every time I heard its approach, I had to run outside and look up; interestingly, my father was always looking up too. I built many models of bombers and airplanes.....my brother built a model of a naked woman so he could see her boobies.
Dad was always a huge fan of high technology, science fiction, and aviation, just to name a few. One day he came home with a bunch of official looking text books, which he seemed to indicate held great value, a value I daresay approaching the status of the Bible in our home. He hunched over them like a monk in a cell, sitting at the kitchen table for hours. He spread out great maps with crazy symbols all over them, looking like something an alien space ship dropped off. As hard as I tried, I could not make any sense of any of it....I would just look at the pictures in the tomes and try to infer what they meant.
One spring day, while attending Corpus Christi catholic elementary school, my dad shows up at the school. WTH? Why is dad here....? He has a surprise for us, he says. Ok great, I was not having so much fun in the 4th grade because I was new to the school, and some red-headed, Howdy Doody look alike named Shawn was having a field day, teasing me with the famous Tapioca taunt (A play on my last name). Dad drives us to the airport, loads us into a Cessna 172 and proceeds to fly us to town and we literally circle the school from a low altitude, as the kids are dismissed for the day. I had no idea he actually knew how to fly this thing! That was one of the coolest things ever, and greatly improved my standing at the school. But I still didn't understand fractions. My sister was born later that year.
From there, I never looked back. I devoured all things space and aviation. I couldn't get enough and I knew what I wanted to be. An Astronaut. But to be an astronaut, you have to pass 7th grade algebra class with that lesbian troll, who doesn't want to acknowledge she's gay, and hates little boys. Crap! There goes my shot at Mars.
No comments:
Post a Comment