Fisher Price makes toys for small children. An American institution since 1930, the company is most famous for their line of “Little People”: colorful, nearly indestructible 2 inch tall figures depicting different occupations.
Long before hoards of mega-achieving Barbie™s dominated toy store shelves, these Little People represented “real jobs”, and as a child, these career options seemed very feasible – particularly since pocket sized toys had been able to accomplish them.
Fireman? Check.
Policeman, Doctor? Obviously.
Builder, Cowboy, Ballet Dancer? Uh…guess so, yeah.
Ok, we weren’t so sure about the ballet dancer…we could all turn around really fast on the playground, but we knew it was much harder to do well. Also, we already knew ranchers and farmers because we lived in Kansas, so cowboys weren’t really all that exotic. And, I mean, we COULD be a doctor, if we HAD to…
…but the one that EVERYONE wanted to be was the astronaut.
The longest I’ve spent in a space vehicle was three days.
My grand-aunt enjoyed buying me random items at her local thrift store and giving them to me after church on Sundays. My mother gently questioned the congruity of these items with the interests of an eight year old boy, utilizing polite statements like,
“He really doesn’t need a (broken) 8mm movie camera.” or
“I don’t know where he’s going to use a (broken) electric blanket in the summertime.”
My grand-aunt would aloofly flip one hand in the air while shoving the item into my arms with the other and declare,
“Oh, he’ll find something he can do with it…”
adding a direct stare into my eyes and the somewhat threatening question,
“…WON’T you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I always said, then set my mind to imagining what I could do with the thing.
One summer Sunday, the item was a HOOVER™ Portable Cleaning Center Canister Vacuum, a turquoise blue 2 ft. tall suitcase containing a long flexible hose and an assortment of attachments. Surprisingly, it was NOT broken, and as luck would have it, we had just gotten a new washing machine, which had been delivered in a rather auspiciously sized cardboard box.
Kismet.
A rocket went to The Moon this week, carrying the same amount of people I usually ride the elevator with every day – in approximately the same amount of space – for a 10 day cruise at unimaginable speeds. No warp drive, no hyperspace, just gravity and math (and science and lots and lots of money).
Following the takeoff, as the line of cloudy exhaust reached miles and miles higher into the sky, I had to ask myself “Could I do that?”
Well sure! with enough training: I’m a quick learner, and have proven willing to endure just about anything for work. But I did not go to flight school, or the Air Force, and they really didn’t need a poet / magician on that particular mission.
Perhaps, on a long-haul flight to Mars, some haikus and mildly astounding card tricks would be just the thing to lift spirits and while away the quiet hours.
I could also bring my banjo (it weighs less than my saxophone).
Ok, I may not have the exact Right Stuff, but I do believe that NASA would have been proud of that homemade HOOVER rocket ship.
I used the hose of the vacuum for air (of course), the cord for “power” (since I wasn’t allowed to turn the unit ON), the wide attachment as an antenna on top, and the smaller ones for various necessities. Ever the engineer, my mother cut a round hole on the side, through which I could view the Earth and stars and she could tell me it was time to eat dinner (and make certain I could breathe in there).
I brought a couple of books, and a light blanket and pillow, and the (broken) film camera to get good shots of everything. Our dog was alternately my co-pilot and a mysterious alien creature on an uncharted planet. At night my mother gave me a flashlight to read with, and even got in for a while to join in the mission and play a few games of Chinese checkers.
I was even allowed to camp in there a few nights; Mom slept nearby on the couch as Mission Control while I drifted through the cosmos, safe in my corrugated capsule.
Anyone can go into space now, but that doesn’t make them an astronaut. I understand that they paid a great deal of money, and were weightless for a minute, saw the curvature of the Earth, and took a couple of iPhone selfies, but that’s just a fortunate tourist, not an astronaut.
An astronaut is a scientist that goes to outer space and does research and experiments there that can’t be done on Earth. Their spacesuits are actually fancy lab coats. Those Fisher Price characters included a teacher and a clown and a king and a train engineer, but not a clear SCIENTIST – except for the ASTRONAUT.
I remember my teachers telling us what we would have to study to be considered for that job. Again, there seemed a clear path, a straight line, from being a kid to being ANYTHING back then - just Hard Work and Good Grades and maybe some vitamins and exercise and BOOM, you were the best of the best, just like those Little People.
I would never give up on a dream, but in the spirit of Spring Cleaning, I’ll finally let myself off the hook of maybe someday being a fireman, train engineer, ballet dancer…
…or astronaut.
But hey, I’ve already had my turn.
Though maybe I could still be a cowboy.
