Monday, May 29, 2006

A Mere Blimp On the Horizon



I was probably about 11 years old.  My dad told mom and us to get in the car and to not ask any questions.  We lived north of New Orleans in Metairie, and we drove for an hour or so south and east to a spot I had seldom seen.  We drove right out into a large open field.  At some point we spotted the Goodyear blimp.  It loomed huge as we drove near it.  I remember wondering why Dad was so secretive about us going to see the blimp.  We had seen it before flying lazily along above a vast Mardi gras crowd.  It was certainly a special treat to see it up close.  But why all the secrecy?

My two brothers and I sat in the car with my Mom while Dad got out and walked up to some guy and chatted with him.  After a moment he walked back and said, o.k. let’s go.
We piled out of the car and walked toward the blimp as several guys struggled to hold it in place with ropes that trailed down toward the ground.  Underneath the blimp was a little passenger compartment that seemed about the size of a VW bus.  Steps were tossed down and we climbed in!  For reasons I could not fathom, my mom chose to stay behind at the car.  Soon I saw the guys holding the ropes letting us ease up higher off the ground.

They can only do this if there is very little wind, explained my Dad.  So he didn’t want to get our hopes up and then find out that we were canceled out due to weather.  He had worked for Goodyear for a long time.  This was a little perk that a few employees got to enjoy when the blimp was in town and not busy flying over a parade or a football game.

The blimp rose up rather slowly. I was seated just behind the pilot who seemed as if he were driving the VW bus.  A low rumble turned into a loud roar as the propeller engines that pushed the blimp were throttled up to push us lazily along.  It was the first time I had flown. It is the only time I have flown in a lighter than air vehicle.  My most vivid memory is one of seeing kids playing on a swing set down below us.  We were high enough that they were tiny and seemed to be rushing forward and backwards beneath the pole of the swing set.  For however long the flight lasted, we were absolutely transfixed by the sights rolling slowly along below us.  I have flown on many airplanes of various sizes in the decades since.  I have never experienced anything quite the same.

Tonight I have taken some time to remember that flight. It was so absolutely unexpected.  To this day, when I tell the story, I have never met anyone who said, “Oh yeah, I did that too when I was a kid.”  As I consider the years since, I realize that many other equally unexpected things have happened.  Some of those things have been wonderful.  Some have been terrible.  Many, many things that I could never have predicted!

Why then do I fail to understand that the next minute may hold a surprise still greater than all those so far?  Why do I feel that I am plodding along a well defined path when every step I take is new territory, time never lived before.  The number of possible outcomes for each moment is vast beyond knowing.  I am hurling through space at thousands of miles per hour.  It is impossible that I will ever be mired within the small scope of my imagination.  I praise God for the adventures ahead.

6 comments:

Pamela Joy said...

Oh my goodness dad! I've never heard that story! It's so great.
I really like to have heard a positive story about Grandpa, that means a lot. I've had a hard time reconciling the grandpa I knew and loved with the stories from you and mom about him afterwards... it does me good to hear that. I remember that Grandma was afraid of heights, it's one of the few things I clearly remember about her - I felt a special connection to her as a kid because of that since I too used to be so very afraid of heights.
Do you remember when we went on a "date" when I was little and we rode bikes to avery park and I freaked out about riding over the bridge? Come to think of it... I wonder what bridge that was? I think it must have been before the overpass that is now there and no longer exists... hmmmm.
Love you. That was a very enjoyable post.

Unknown said...

Pamela,

My how things change from when you are little to when you are older.
The bridge is still there. It is the little bridge that goes over the Mary's River right there where 15th street crosses highway 20 right by OSU campus. At least I think that is where you freaked out:-)

Your Grandfather was a good Dad to me in many ways. And I know that he loved my Mom and he loved us kids. I think the way he dealt with his own anxieties or fears was to criticize or question everyone close to him. It took me a number of decades to see that he didn't mean to hurt us the way he did! I was glad I was pretty much at peace about that when he died.

Dad

Janice said...

you should write a book. i'd buy it. you should so be the next donald miller.

Unknown said...

Janice,

You are very kind! For many years I thought, "Maybe I should be a writer". I was haunted by something that Sinclair Lewis said in a speech to aspiring writers. He staggered to the podium, drunk.
He glared at the audience and said,
"If you want to be writers why the hell aren't you out writing!" Now decades later, this whole blog thing has helped me overcome the inertia that kept me from getting started. It is a delight to have this outlet! It is a wonderful plus to get encouragement from those who read.

Thank You,

Kent

Pamela Joy said...

Yes that's the bridge. I can pictures it very clearly from the vantage point of my 7 or 8 year old eyes... but I can't picture it right now as I mentally drive down that highway which I have driven in reality so many times. In my memory it leads into Avery Park... but the river's not right next to the highway so that can't be right. Where is the river? Interesting how the mind holds an incomplete picture I suppose... I'll have to watch for it when I drive home on Friday.

Pamela Joy said...

Oh and mom a) how the HECK could you be afraid Charles won't graduate? He's the first one of us to possibly pull of validictorian! I guess I'll understand when I'm a mom...? b) that's why lasic eye surgery is such an AMAZINGLY THRILLING idea and c) I can't believe you vanquished the sock basket. I did that once. I am very proud of your achievement.