The Day Murf Became a Woman

It was the summer of 1984. I was 13. Having a stay-at-home mom was great during summer vacations because our days were spent frolicking (or going to the grocery store to stock up on Funk & Wagnall encyclopedias every week when another section of the alphabet was released..but I digress...) Heck, no one could beat how late my mom stayed up to read after we went to bed (her quiet time) or get up any later than her. On this particular day, I had planned to lay out in the sun a bit in our backyard.

With two tall maple trees in the backyard, laying out time was usually 12:30 and after and relegated to the driveway only. Once the sun had come around the trees, I grabbed the bi-colored plastic tri-fold lawn chair with the built in plastic pillow and moved it out into the middle of the driveway. I then laid the beach towel across the chair so that when I stood up afterwards, I wouldn't have the lines of the lawn chair across the back of my thighs.

Once I got all situated, I laid back, closed my eyes and just listened to the sounds of the neighborhood - someone mowing in the distance, birds chirping, the Lawn Nazi cursing at his wife, a fly buzzing my ear - as my white skin, unencumbered, absorbed what we now know to be UVA and UVB rays.

I live not to far from an airport that is mainly for private planes and cargo and the major airport is only 20 minutes down the road so hearing planes going over is no big deal. We weren't in the direction of a landing or a take off so it was rarely disruptive. Just another background sound that I've grown to not even hear. On this day, however, I heard something strange.

As I was laying there, getting drowsy by the sun and occasionally forcing one eye open to see if I left an imprint when I touched my legs or arms to see how much color (i.e., red) I was getting, I heard a plane. It kept getting louder and louder. A few seconds later, it was still getting louder so I got up from the lawn chair and walked to the far side of the driveway, towards the sound of this plane that was incredibly loud at this point and where there was space between the trees. Over the tree tops, I saw it. As it passed over me, I looked up and saw this:


The underbelly of a Blue Angel jet. For those few seconds as it passed over me, so close I could read everything on it and felt almost as if I could touch it, I was mesmerized.

As it disappeared over the trees, I realized something that growing breasts or the start of the monthly visits from Aunt Flo didn't do - I love men in uniform. I had officially became a woman.

That love hasn't diminished over time (and Van Halen's 1986 video for 'Dreams' helped to keep the fire stoked). I still get tingly and I've had the pleasure of paying money a couple of years ago to finally see them and to relive this feeling on the grounds of a small airport in central lower Michigan (as well as the Air Force's Thunderbirds and Canada's Snowbirds but as they say, you do remember your first and that was the Blue Angels). If I had one wish, it would be to ride with them. I don't care if I vomit food that I ingested 10 years ago as I've heard can happen to first-timers. I'm fine with that. Nothing ticks me off more than an E-list actress (or Kelly Clarkson. Really?!?) who gets that opportunity.

The Blue Angels are at the nearby private/cargo plane airport this weekend. It's a bit costly this year (and you can't bring in a cooler like you could at the other airport) so I'm not going nor do I lay out in the sun like I did on that fateful day but I will be planting myself outside and catching as many glimpses as I can (and watching the video, below) as I feel 13 again.