My family traveled to Seattle this summer. Out of nostalgia and the sense of duty to be good tourists on my parent’s part, we visited the Space Needle. My mother, my father, my sister, and I paid $16 per person to go to the top, where we were suitably unimpressed by the view.
Things were more fun downstairs in the overpriced gift shop, where the “space needle” theme meant marketers had gotten creative to keep us interested in the structure. Anything long and skinny, from olive oil to lamps, was reborn into the Space Needle image. Space Noodle pasta, Space Needle golf tees, paperweights, figurines, pens, cooking utensils, hats, shirts, food…
My father was in his element. He has always loved to laugh at Outer Space and all things sci-fi. His eyes twinkle with good humor at the words “alien abduction.” He enjoys making fun of cheesy old movies like “Killers from Space!” And though he enjoys the comedy of wild theories that say Elvis is still alive in a mother ship somewhere, at his heart he is an artist who delights in possibilities outside the mundane. And what opens the door to more possibilities than the final frontier?
After impatiently and unsuccessfully trying to drag my parents from the store by force twice, my sister and I both realized this was the perfect place to find him a gift. He was looking at everything with that star-struck twinkle in his eyes that said his imagination had been awakened.
We were quite determined we should get Dad just the right thing. We watched as he and my mother wove through the pointless Needle knickknacks, spying out with mock 007 smoothness which souvenirs he dawdled at longest.
Finally we had a winner. It was a rocket-shaped pewter pen that sat weighty and sleek in its base. It came in a little black box, its individual parts nestled in Styrofoam. I hid it in my backpack where Dad wouldn’t see the gift.
I did not think about it again until we passed through security at the Seattle Tacoma airport.
In airports, X-ray machines are used to scan for organic explosives and dangerous devices. My bag did not come out of the machine for a while. The X-ray technician stared silently at his screen, the conveyor belt not moving. Finally he murmured lowly to his coworkers, “Look at this. Looks like it could make a rocket to me… Is that a rocket? Run it through again.”
I was pulled aside, and my bag was searched.
My sister cleverly realized what was causing the trouble. She went immediately to Dad, to try to distract him, so he wouldn’t see the gift they were pulling out of my bag. He ignored her. (I can’t say I blame him—if my daughter’s bags were being searched, my attention would be nowhere else.)
Airports are full of negative energy. People are exhausted, hungry, and haunted by the uncertainties of when, where, and how their basic needs will next be met. The long arm of governance reaches to stop terrorists, oppressing everyone in its quest for safety. Frazzled travelers lose their short tempers with airport staff who might—if they are not already jaded to the public or frazzled themselves—try to put a nice face on the bad news they have to inevitably give.
If I were that security technician, I’d have thrown the pen out just in case. Better safe than sorry, right? Besides, she had probably faced ten million irate customers that day. No need to do little old me any favors.
But, she did. She saw my father, she saw me shielding the pen from his view with my body just in case, and she saw my sister vainly trying to distract him. She may have sensed the way Dad’s eyes would light up opening that gift… she may have sensed the way his daughters rose to action to preserve the secret… She may have had some sort of Martian device in her soul that diverted the flow of negativity all around her.
Here's how it happened. New strings were vibrated at the cosmic level, an alternate universe opened up where possibilities are endless and people really are basically good--and airport security let me pass with my cargo.
Next Tuesday my sister and I will proudly present my father with his pen, and probably relate the story of its journey. The trip makes it that much more special.
Dad is going to love it. Thanks, airport security!
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