Space Camp (Coming of Age)

I never really grew out of wanting to be an astronaut.

Really, I'm pretty sure that's supposed to stop being a serious career path at about the same time you're too old to have Buzz Lightyear bedsheets. As soon as you tack that second digit onto your age it's suddenly socially unacceptable to aspire for interstellar travel; it's uncool.

But I didn't really care, rebel that I was. Astronauts get to ride on the tips of rockets, float in the emptiness of space, speak over crackly radios, and spend their days in total serenity, peering down on the most beautiful planet this solar system has to offer. There could be nothing better than this and only one thing could ever come close: Space Camp.

You have to capitalize both words when you write it - Space Camp - and you have say it like both words are capitalized. It's not just some term to be tossed about in normal conversation but requires you instead to speak it with a sense of awe and wonder. This isn't any old camp. This is Space Camp, the premiere and ultimate of all camps in existence and the greatest experience a boy could ever have.

So you can imagine that it was no small deal when I hugged my father goodbye at terminal A15 to spend a week at Space Camp. I didn't know what to feel. There was a battle of emotions happening inside of me, a fight between terror and excitement. At a single moment I was on the verge of both shouting for joy and bursting out in wet, salty tears.

I felt out of place as I was handed off to a flight attendant. She seemed so confident and put together, every blond hair positioned as perfectly as she had positioned the smile on her face. She walked straight and tall and the click of her heels echoed slightly as we walked through the Jetway to the plane.

And next to her I was hardly even half her height. My backpack felt childish and I resented the gaudy "Unaccompanied Minor" nametag I was forced to wear. It hung from an American Airlines lanyard and swung awkwardly about my neck, as if trying to draw as much attention as possible. "This boy is too young to travel alone!" the tag cried to everyone who would listen.

This was not the message I wanted people to hear. And yet, the message remained. First, I sat in the wrong seat on the airplane. Then when the flight attendants brought drinks, I promptly spilled orange juice on my book. The bored businessman whose seat I had accidentally taken earlier silently offered me a napkin, but I refused out of shame. Today of all days, I wanted to feel older, but I was reminded of my youth at every turn.

I only had to look down to be reminded of it. "Unaccompanied Minor" the tag said. Almost tauntingly. Repetitively. "Unaccompanied Minor".

I'm the fourth from the left, in a semi-authentic flight suit.
I told you this camp was legit!

When the plane landed, I didn't know where to go but was quickly spotted by a 20-something wearing a space camp shirt. He strode over to me with long steps, shook my hand and welcomed me by name. I was excited now. The worries I had on the plane dissipated with the arrival of this man who spoke to me like I was as old as I wanted to be. I took off that dumb lanyard and left it at the airport before I was accompanied to Space Camp.

And I had the time of my life.