When Mulder Lives Next Door

I came to learn later in life that our next door neighbor was not everything he seemed.

He and his wife were always kind. She was older than he, and they had two very sweet dogs they loved like children. I learned to swim in their backyard, canopied doughboy pool. When my sister and I knocked on their door for Halloween, they always had special candy set aside just for us that was bigger and better than the regular stash. I can remember hanging out in his garage looking at the rocks he had found. Learning about his rock tumbler and what the term "Rock Hound" meant.

After we'd moved away, when it was too late to ask questions, my parents told me that Dan had worked out at the Skunk Works. Didn't I remember all the times he was away?

No. In the typical, self-centered viewpoint of a child I have memories of all the times he was near. But never noticed when he wasn't around.

My sweet, quiet neighbor helped build some of the most amazing aircraft in history. The B-1. The B-2. The Space Shuttle.

Today, we went to the Air and Space Museum near the Dulles airport. And there she was. Our Blackbird. The SR-71.

There are no words. Standing in front of that Blackbird made my heart pound. I was so close. You could. almost. reach. out. and. touch. it.

Dan worked on them. He may well have built this actual aircraft with his own hands.

I have very emotional ties to my upbringing in the Mojave. I grew up in a world where high-tech, super secret aircraft flew over my house and school. Daily sonic booms rattled our windows, and when the rattling knocked us off the couch we'd shake our heads and laugh that someone was going to get their wrist slapped.

When we moved away it took me years to grow accustomed to the silence of the skies. They seemed so empty.

Dan is still living. We heard this Christmas he is in an assisted living facility and that his memory comes and goes.

I brought my camera to the museum to take photos of the kids. But I took a few for Dan and will send them to his son-in-law to pass them on to him. I know he may not remember. But maybe he does.

I hope he remembers a time where Laddie greeted him at the door with joyful wags of the tail. I hope his days are filled with conversations with his beautiful wife. I hope his mind's eye walks amongst the tumbleweeds watching one of his planes take off into a Mojave sunset. I hope he smiles and knows that he was a part of something amazing.