There was something about outer space that felt like it was my own. I first noticed that NASA, as a brand, expanded outside of just Houston when I was in the international airport, at about ten years old. There were shirts with its logo printed blown up all over, all different colors, shapes and sizes. Some with long sleeves, short sleeves; women’s v-necks to the left and a men’s crew neck to the right. The merchandise I had only ever seen within the confines of a gift shop fifteen minutes away from my childhood home were on display in the sixth largest airport in America, for anyone from anywhere to buy and wear.
My mom always told us growing up that she wanted us to be “cultured,” which meant that if children had discounted admission and there was an opportunity to learn, we were going to participate. I don’t remember my first exact visit to the space station. I have a montage of memories from various points in my youth being there, though. I remember the necessary middle school field trip to the rocket facilities, taking the shuttle past the field of longhorns and learning about the same successes and failures that I had seen in the movies. I remember going with my cousin, where I played arcade games and put on a space helmet two times the size of my head. I remember always begging for the stuffed monkey with a space suit on, which I eventually did buy and named Dave. While I fondly remember being there, the space around the space station feels more concrete in my nostalgia.
I desperately wanted to leave my hometown after high school more than anyone that surrounded me. I had dreams of being a filmmaker (I had never used a camera once in my life) and being a screenwriter (also had never once written a script). There was an intense and rude awakening in my first semester in the big city with my big dreams. My colossal disappointment made me yearn for home more and more. I listened to music that echoes the twang reminiscent of the forced country radio station on our road trips down south. I Googled “movies set in Texas,” to catch a glimpse of the flat wheat and cotton fields that surround suburbs. Being far away, it was expected that I would miss what I consider my “immediate home”. I missed my parents, my dog, my siblings, the ability to drive, Tex-Mex and probably more when I put thought into it. When I started watching “X-Files,” I felt the same pang of nostalgia. The show isn’t set in Houston, nor is it anywhere near a space station in general. Male protagonist Fox Mulder, however, is obsessed with extraterrestrials, similar to myself at around eight or nine or years old. Aliens and isolating Americana brought all the feelings back of just how comfortable NASA, as a place, was for me. The following winter break, I begged my parents to take our entire family to the “NASA Galaxy Lights,” which consists of various space-themed shapes wrapped in Christmas lights, where families go to waste money on expensive hot chocolate and feel the holiday spirit. Being back in that space as a much older and happy to be home college student brought back all the memories I had craved while I was away from home.
The vast idea of space and the future of technology sat within the realm of my comfortable suburbia. For that reason, it had alway felt like mine. Returning to it this summer, sighing as I saw the admission price had jumped about double from when I was a child, everything had changed. With the celebration of 55 years of the Apollo 11 mission underway, families from all over were huddled in the grand lobby of the space station. I heard languages around me that I couldn’t recognize, but their tone telling the young ones to pose and smile next to the model rockets. The familiarity of it all leaves me nearly unfazed to the greatness that others are seeing. I had already seen these rockets in a past life, and I had done the interactive games set for children before at some point, I’m sure. They’ve integrated new technology, though. A giant display of virtual reality where parents can pay to have no complaining children in their ear for $18 a ride and a new exhibition explaining the plan to send our astronauts to Mars decorate the corners of the room. They still have the astrological “Angry Birds” arcade game and photobooth that still takes cash, which was nice to see.
I couldn’t understand how all of these people were connecting with NASA, because they never could in the same way I did. The space station was there for my field trips, and we drove on Saturn Lane to go to my grandma’s house. There was something about outer space that felt like it was my own. I’ve sort of grown more comfortable in my distance from the space station over the years. A consistent summer back from school ensures that I get to relive and sit with sentimentality. June and July hold that hope and warmth of being home again, driving to NASA, seeing the same astronaut statue that sits atop the nearby McDonald’s. I see the same restaurants and parks, with shiny and new modifications. Time makes the space change and come August I have to take off, and leave the things that know me as well as I know them. The space station is something that has become a representation of my home. To me, it’s summers off with my mom and it’s getting snow cones after seeing and reading about men on the moon. It will always be partly mine, and I’ll always come back to it.
Written by Ana Marks