- One, my father didn’t like to fly, and now he’s in orbit.
- Two, my father was suspicious of the space program, and now he’s on board a rocket with a Mercury astronaut and James Doohan, the U.S.S. Enterprise’s esteemed chief engineer. (To be fair, my father was suspicious of everything and everyone, including former CNN anchor Bobbie Batista, whose gaze he claimed was designed to distract viewers from the “real news”—the “real news” meaning items about the space program, natch, of which he is now a full-fledged member, natch.)
- Three, I had no idea my father was blast into space until hours after he had been blast into space. This, too, is funny to me, and that’s because:
- Four, there is something wrong with me.
- Five, prior to Tuesday, my father had been blast into space with Mr. Cooper and Mr. Doohan a million times, not including some bonus airplane flights here and there, since my family signed him up, or rather, signed his remains up several years ago for a space flight courtesy the aerospace company Celestis: I had simply stopped paying attention to what he, or, rather what his remains were doing. (See above for further explanation.)
- Six, prior to Tuesday, I did not know my father (and Mr. Cooper and Mr. Doohan) hadn’t really been blast into space on all those other occasions; my father had merely been part of failed attempts to be blast into space. I did not know this because I evidently wasn’t paying attention even when I thought I was paying attention (which was sometime back in 2008.)
- Seven, in emails, my mother referred to Celestis as “the space people,” á la, “The space people just sent me an email again…,” and I found that phrase, “the space people,” so entertaining that I never bothered with the rest of the emails, plural.
So, yes, my father was blast into space Tuesday, and this is still funny to me because I can’t imagine it wouldn’t be funny to him. Especially the part about “the space people.”