Okay,buckle up, buttercup. This goes back a bit to the Great Pandemic Lockdown.
We all have those childhood friends when growing up that formed the nucleus of our Glory Days. Most of us had those in high school and some in college. My story starts out of the blue, with no names, but I know them all. Love or hate, Facebook and the Internet have made the world smaller and a whole lot more searchable. So, one day out of sheer boredom. I ask my wife if she can find one of my first friends I made on my return to America. I'm a military brat. You learn to move on and not look back. Found him! OMG! We all got old. His brother had just died. I decided to let sleeping dogs lie. Blast from the past number one. But I'm ahead of myself. Dad was in SAC during the height of the cold war. Uncle Sam tried to keep families together, but often he went in harm's way where we couldn't go. As an active pilot (he flew for all 26 years in USAF, which I guess is unusual. He gets assigned to Britain as a NATO nuclear weapons safety officer. We moved to Aurora, Co for 6 months while he did training (?-never knew) but he was a big hobbiest to help relax after the day. He allowed me to go to the hobby shop a few times. There was the first model rocket I'd ever seen that really flew! Yup, got one! Flew it once in the meadow at the end of the street and lost it in the forest. D'oh! Went to England about 3rd grade. All I could get were Guy Faulkes rockets, you know, the disposable kind. Once a frickin' year in November. Fast forward to the 9th grade. Dad had been a squadron commander at diff bases in Britain and now was reassigned to the European Air Material support base for Europe (duh) in Georgia. Still in base housing, but my first civilian school. In the rural south. So much for big city and bright lights. I had an accent (still do when drunk) and was way different than the rest of the kids. It wasn't easy. Water finds it's own level and the first summer, I was a prostitute wholly owned by Estes and Centuri. I had a news paper route, washed cars and dogs and windows, collected bottles and mowed lawns. I learned at my father's elbow how to use an exacto, tissue and dope balsa stick planes and learned a lot about aerodynamics as my dad had a degree from Cal Poly. This translated right into rockets. My first order to Estes was $300.00. They even called to make sure I hadn't forged my dad's check I traded him cash for! Being an outsider and bit of a loner anyways, it suited me just fine to hole up in the hobby room during the oppressive heat in the ac and build rockets. Come time to fly, of course, I got a peanut gallery. 4 other chaps on base housing got the bug and we were thick as thieves. 4 other kids in school kinda accepted me as the harmless oddball and so the germ was planted. We begged the Driver's Ed teacher to let us start a rocket club at this little podunk hick school in Georgia. Fast forward, Dad retired, we finished our grades in Georgia, and moved to California to be with all the in-laws and outlaws. Cali not rocket friendly to underage teens. Hit pause. Turned 18 but too many people, not enuff open spaces. Turned 21, went thru the exploratory stage of who am I and what do I do? Fast forward again and it's high power in the desert. By now I'm a manufacturing engineer on the Atlas/Centaurs. Never thought of the guys back in Georgia. When you grow up military, it's a coping mechanism. Fast forward. My buddy, who had become a geophysicist, kept the base phone book all the years. He tracked me down thru death notices of my parents and a lot of excellent sleuthing. OMG! We all traded pics and stories and it was all cool. Blast from the past number two. I retire from GenDynamics when they sold out and moved to Denver. Went to see my best bud from the old rocket days in Georgia whose living in Colorado Springs. Ugghh, town grew up, Denver got smoggy and my idyllic hood was a ghetto. Nope, not going with the company. Fast forward, and here's where I creeped out. Now I'm a manager at an Indian Casino. I interview a chap for a job and all goes well, except I have no openings at the time. This was a favour to HR for some reason. I walk him back to Security and while he being processed out, I overhear him talking to his buddy. He talks about his high school in Georgia. Yup, same little podunk school! I fell over. I asked him if the rocket club still existed. Yup, part of the Stem track for college. 55 dam years ago! Blast from the past number three. What are the freaking odds of that? You tell me. Getting ready to retire again after 24 years of not being an engineer. My boss (the VP) loves me. I think he likes to tell his golf buddies he has a "rocket scientist" in his back pocket. Hah, I'm dumber to than a box of rocks. There are some really wizard chaps here on TRF. He knows I fly and let's me get away with murder for my schedule. Still good times at the launch rod. An off road wheel chair and pretty young nurse to get me out to the pad, I'm good for another decade! As long as it's not spooky.
Edit: dropped the ball. Forgot to mention at the top the buddy my wife found and whose brother died? Yeah, both founding members of our little rocket club. The geophysicist did not know them. Sorry, kinda the start of the spooky for me. Wife calls it synchronicity. I call it wierd.