"Hey guys," my brother called. "Free tickets to a Blue Angels show! Out here!" I’m a pretty literal person when I’m not paying close attention, and I ran outside looking for a dude giving away tickets. A royal blue figher jet soared overhead, followed by another, and two more. Forehead slap!
The Blue Angels – man, oh, man, being on this Navy base takes me back to my youth. Occasionally a fighter jet would buzz base housing, and the sonic boom would shatter shower doors. I grew up with the sound of roaring planes in my ears. I can remember going to air shows as a kid – we were able to walk from our house, passing the cars lined up and waiting to turn into the crowded parking lot. I can remember long hot days, riding on my dad’s back, my mother putting cloth diapers on my bare shoulders to protect them from sunburn. The Blue Angels are, of course, the best part. They fly in tight formation, a basketball-width from one another, going approximately a zillion miles an hour. They dive and roll, flutter and spin, looking much more like birds than angels. I’ve seen it a million times but it’s still pretty thrilling.
Jack followed them with wide eyes, looking around for them when they disappeared over the horizon. The noise freaked him out a little bit, but just a little. We caught a few photos. Randy jumped up on the roof, and my mother yelled at him. It was a great little show. Military bases are not aesthetically pleasing places, but to me they always feel like home.