It’s a UFO! Or Is It?

 

I just got through watching one of those UFO programs on the Discovery Channel.  It’s embarrassing to admit I periodically look at these things, because I think of myself as being reasonably intelligent.   And I certainly don’t have the characteristics of a UFO abductee, because my home doesn’t have wheels on it.  But they have always fascinated me.  Even when I was a kid, I would frequently buy UFO books and magazines with my allowance.  

In fact, I can still remember one of the articles I read over 50 years ago. It told readers how to make a fake UFO using simple household items like a dry cleaning bag, birthday candles, and drinking straws.  According to the author, you could easily create a balloon that would drift high in the air with an unearthly glow.  For whatever reason, that resonated with me.  Maybe it’s because boys always like the idea of building something that can fly.  Or perhaps I wanted to do my own personal version of the Orson Wells’ “War of the Worlds” hoax. I’ve always liked practical jokes.  

Years went by, and this nonsense was forgotten until one day when my wife Carol brought home supplies for our young son’s birthday party. Among all the goodies on the kitchen table were candles and plastic straws, two of the three components necessary to build the flying machine.  When I walked in the house with my dry cleaning in hand and hung it over a kitchen chair, my inner child immediately began to yell.  “Hey!   Do you see what you’ve got here!  Remember?  Everything we need to build a fake UFO is right in front of us!  It’s time to do this!  Now!” 

I smiled and nodded as I looked over all three items. It wasn’t the first time I had listened to my inner child.  And frequently he got me in trouble.  But what he suggested was almost always going to be fun!  I immediately began opening packages, harvesting the candles and straws.  However, when I stripped the dry cleaning bag off the clothes and headed for the basement, there was an intervention.  

It was Carol, who sharply asked,”What in the world are you doing?”

I gave her the standard husband reply. 

“Nothing.”   

“Well, then why are you going to the basement with all of that?” 

“I’m doing kind of an experiment. It’s nothing, really.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, I’m sure of that.” 

Ignoring her sarcastic comment, I made my way down to my workbench and began the experiment.  After a bit of tinkering that would’ve made DaVinci proud, I managed to fit a few candles on a couple of straws.  Then using a lighter, I melted this gerryrigged frame to the bottom of the dry cleaning bag.  It looked like a big plastic amoeba.  “This is never gonna work.”  I thought.  “Have faith,” my inner child responded. 

I took this contraption outside and began lighting the candles.  In less than a minute, the bag began to billow from the warm air.  It started to feel light in my hands.  

Then, I had a eureka moment.  It was nothing like Alexander Graham Bell saying, “Watson, come here, I want you.”  But I did giggle and say out loud,  “This sucker’s gonna fly!”

And it did.  The bag  floated out of my hands as softly as a butterfly, and drifted about 20 feet over my head.  Then unable to go any higher, it gently descended.  I think I heard my inner child yell,”Yee ha!”

I immediately headed down the street to my best friend Richard’s house, balloon in hand.  He loved immature shenanigans like this. That’s why my inner child was best friends with his inner child. Within a half hour, the whole thing was re-engineered.  Satisfied with the improvements, we took it across the street to a playground for it’s first true test flight.  

To our mutual delight, the balloon easily left the confines of the earth and silently climbed a few hundred feet in the air.  The plastic bag was reflecting light from the candles. It was eerie. It was great!  My mind raced with possibilities. 

The events that night resulted in an unusual conversation at my dry cleaners the next day:  

“Picking up something, Mr. Hobby?”

“Well, uh, maybe.  No clothes.  But, I need to buy a few plastic bags for a science project.”

“I think we can do that. What do you need, 3 or 4?”

 “How about fifty?”

Richard told me he had a source for birthday candles. I didn’t question him, but honestly, who has access to lots of birthday candles? It didn’t matter.   

The next day, his ping pong table was transformed into an assembly line.  We made more improvements on the balloons, and soon we could quickly produce one that could fly hundreds of feet in the air for almost 10 minutes. 

Of course, our wives were not amused.  They actually saw this as a complete waste of time!  I’m sure the Wright Brothers also faced this kind of resistance. 

The following Saturday evening they ordered us to stop the foolishness and make a run to the grocery store. That was fine with me. I already had another close encounter with my inner child, and he came up with an idea that would make our trip worthwhile. Before we got in Richard’s truck, I grabbed a freshly assembled balloon and a lighter. Now we were  ready to go.   

It was Saturday night on the eastern side of  Birmingham and the  shopping center was buzzing. It seemed like every store from Woolco to Food World was full of people. This was perfect.  Richard and I wisely bought our groceries first, then pulled behind the store near the loading dock. I hopped out of the truck with the balloon.  In less than a minute, our little UFO was lit and slowly rising in the sky, preparing to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting earthlings.  

A surreal scene greeted us when we pulled back around front.  It looked like someone had stopped time.  No one was moving.  Instead, everyone in the parking lot was staring at the sky and pointing.  The alien invasion had begun.  

We began laughing uncontrollably.  This was far better than either of us could’ve imagined.  We had completely stopped traffic in the shopping center.  Predictably, Richard decided to take this joke to the next level.   In a stroke of comedic genius, he pulled up to a couple, rolled down his window, and began asking them about the mystery in the sky.  He played the perfect straight man.  

“Hey, what is that thing?”, Richard asked the earthling staring at the object, now a couple hundred feet in the air. 

He pointed and replied, “I dunno.  It came from over there.  Maybe it’s a weather balloon.” 

Richard would have none of that. “No, it’s not one of those.  I know what they look like.  Weather balloons don’t glow like that.  Look at those tiny little engines.  Maybe it’s one of them UFOs.”  It was a brilliant bit of improv. 

The earthling agreed, saying, “Yep.  Could be.  It ain’t making a sound.  Maybe it’s somethin’ the military’s testing.” 

His wife, standing beside him, spoke up, saying, “Well, whatever it is, I think it’s scary for something to just appear out of nowhere like that.”   

I turned my head to cover my face.  My whole body was convulsing.  If I had so much as made eye contact with Richard, we both would’ve burst out laughing.  

All the while, the UFO was climbing higher. It danced and flickered in the night sky. Within minutes, little fireballs began to fall from the bottom of balloon.  This always happened when the candles burned down to the straws. We knew it was just globs of molten plastic, but to everyone else, it appeared to be something more sinister.  The man pointed again, and said, “Hey, look!  Look!  It’s shootin’ somethin’!”

And as if on cue, the second he spoke, the balloon flickered and went out. It just vanished in the night sky. 

The wide eyed earthling was stunned. “Did ya’ll see that?”, he said loudly.   It’s gone! That thang just went into hyperspace!”  

Inside, my inner child was nodding appreciatively.  Orson Wells would’ve been proud. 

Decades later, my inner child still speaks to me. 

Nowadays, it’s usually not about practical jokes and foolishness, but I feel that it’s important we talk on a regular basis.  I believe an active inner child fosters creativity, whimsical thoughts, and a youthful outlook on life.  That’s something we need as we age. We don’t have any choice about growing older, but we sure don’t have to grow up. I’m sure people like Betty White and Bob Hope had daily conversations with their inner child. And Mel Brooks probably is an inner child. Don’t push that  voice aside. Listen to it. Engage it!

I’ve told my oldest granddaughter the UFO  story a couple of times, and her response is always, “When can we build one?”  I think it’s about time. 

I wonder if Richard still has a source for birthday candles?

Find more of Joe’s stories on his blog: https://mylifeasahobby.blogspot.com/?m=1. Also, follow him on Facebook at: Joe Hobby Comedian- Writer.