Soapbox

Rocket Man

July 7th, 1997

So I’ve got this kid…and he really wanted a model rocket to play with. The trouble was, since he is 37 years old, he felt kind of silly buying it for himself, so he bought it for our son.

I, quite frankly, was not entirely sure that the little kid would be quite as gung-ho on rockets as the big kid was, since he tends to be rather overly concerned about things being dangerous. I guess that learning archery and B-B target shooting at Cub Scout Camp has helped him get over that, though, because he seemed to like the idea just fine.

Yesterday he and his Dad covered the kitchen table with newspaper and put the model together. Then we all piled into the car and drove around looking for a suitable field for the maiden voyage. It was decided that the field behind a local elementary school would do fine, and the rocket was sucessfully launched.
The first two flights used little "B" engines, but for the third launch it was decided (by Dad, of course) to power-up to the "C" size. I took pictures of Stephen standing proudly beside his rocket on the launch tower, Stephen operating the ignition controls and the two kids holding the pieces of the rocket they had retrieved after they floated gently to earth.
Unfortunately I ran out of film before I could get a shot of us all standing under a tree at the edge of the field, pointing up 35 feet into the foliage where the parachute took the rocket after the third, full-power launch.

I looked at how high the rocket was and how few good limbs there were on the tree and figured our next stop was at the store for a new rocket. But the big kid was in charge here, not me. I also missed getting a picture of me holding the ladder and Ted scrambling up the tree and out on a limb. He was determined to knock the rocket loose with a device he made from my tree-pruner and Katie’s old fishing cane pole lashed together.
As I stood below with the children, dead branches raining down while Ted tried to get close enough to snag the thing, I had those thoughts that mothers everywhere probably have at times like this:
You know, a new rocket would cost a hell-of-a-lot less than the Emergency Room bill that I see coming. You could fall and be killed, or worse yet, maimed, and I wouldn’t even get to collect on your life insurance!

As luck would have it, the intrepid Dad prevailed. The rocket was recovered with the parachute still intact, dad was the hero and I was "oh ye of little faith." Stephen was happily holding his rocket and imagining it flying to the moon all the way home. Of course, we had to walk home because now there was no room left in the car for us, what with the ladder and the fishing poles, etc. that had been brought in for the rescue.
Dad went to the store to buy some more engines for the next launch, (which hopefully will be in a cornfield somewhere, with no trees) and came back with, SURPRISE! his own rocket. So now he doesn’t have to let the little kid have all the fun.
I wouldn’t be surprised if his first launch doesn’t end up in Delaware county!