The 1960s Space Race between the USSR and USA exterminated young boys’ worship of westerns. Cowboy hats, vests, guns, and holsters were retired to the closet next to toy boats and teddy bears. I pleaded with my parents for an astronaut costume for Halloween and my father answered my dream with a gleaming space suit complete with a visored helmet. My older brother dressed up as a Martian with green skin. Frunk had fabricated a ray gun from a broken egg-beater. After dinner we were eager to trick or treat, but before leaving the house I purloined sunglasses from my father’s dresser without asking for his permission. He was leading my younger siblings around the neighborhood.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” My brother was better at following rules than me.

“Sure I’m sure. They’re extra protection from your death ray.” I had seen INVASION FROM MARS ten times. The Martians’ main weapon vaporized soldiers into carbon.

“It’s your funeral.”

“What can happen?” We lived in the suburbs, a land of two-car garages, good schools, and beautiful babysitters.
“I guess nothing.”

“Other than getting a lot of candy.”

“We left our split-level ranch house. My best friend, Chuckie Manzi, joined us on the lawn. He was a young Frankenstein.

“First things first.” He pointed across the street. Mr. Martini’s house drove truck for Arnold’s Bakery. His wife put out cake instead of candy.

The night was dark without any moon. We climbed the brick stairs. There was no metal railing. My brother rang the doorbell.

Mrs. Martini acted scared and offered a selection of cakes. I chose orange spice. Chuckie and my older brother were grateful for chocolate cake. We thanked her with filled mouths. I slipped on my glasses and shut the visor.

I couldn’t see a thing and walked off the stairs, smashing my head into the wall and mutilating my little finger.

There was blood all over my astronaut suit, but I was more concerned with my father’s sunglasses. They had fallen off, but luck was with me. They were intact.

My brother led me back to our house, careful not to let any blood drip on his costume.

My mother admonished my dangerous behavior. She had six kids. We were always in jeopardy. A band-aid stemmed the blood and my mother refused to let me leave the house with the sunglasses.

“Once is enough.”

And she was right, for since that Halloween I have only worn sunglasses at night when I can’t find my regular glasses. I still bear a jagged scar on my little finger from that fall.

In Space no one ever falls.

There is no up or down in the heavens.