You're Not Crazy Because You Saw a UFO

Why is it surprising to anyone that there are objects in the sky that cannot be readily identified? And why do we always assume that they are extraterrestrial visitors? The acronym UFO obviously means just that:  an unidentified flying object. Could be anything. A large bird we've never seen before. Something a prankster launched from his backyard. One of the military's new toys they'd really prefer we hadn't seen. A new type of kitplane that someone built in her garage. The ever-popular weather balloon. A meteor. A radio-controlled model that flies. The International Space Station or another satellite in orbit. And yes, possibly "some friends from out of town," as Tommy Lee Jones' character "K" referred to extraterrestrial visitors in the comedy Men in Black.

But if they are genuine ETs, so what? That's right, so what?! Eventually, someone out there will stumble over our corner of the universe. You only have to watch one cable science program to realize how vast our own modest galaxy is, let alone the known universe. Remember the dear departed Carl Sagan intoning "billions and billions of stars"? Yep. And there are way more than that. How can anyone think it's surprising that  some of those many stars have captured planets that house life smart enough to make the trip to our little mudball here in the Milky Way? Philosophical and religious implications aside, it's simple statistics.

                                     --Composite image from the Hubble Space Telescope


I personally think we've had ET visitors here since before Homo sapiens showed up--and pretty much continuously since. To my knowledge, I've never seen anything weird and spooky in the sky or landed in my backyard or a neighboring field, but I believe--too many ordinary and rational people have reported everything from orange orbs hovering near the back deck to giant black triangles overhead to full-blown alien abductions--who am I to say they are wrong?--I was not, after all, there.

I've spent a far amount of time in airplanes at night with a big window in front of my seat. Very disappointing that I've never seen anything unusual. I actively watched, but nothing novel appeared. I scan the skies every night when I walk the dog. Nothing. Something like one hundred million people have seen UFOs over the last sixty years or so, but I am not one of them. Seriously annoying. Maybe the ETs know they're preaching to the choir and don't bother to visit me.

It's probably just as well that I never saw a UFO in the course of my professional flying career. Historically, pilots have been severely ostracized for making UFO reports. Many have lost their jobs and been virtually driven out of the profession--as in, "You'll never work in this business again," to quote a Jimmy Buffett song. I never did understand why reporting something weird in the sky would make you seem crazy to the powers that be--unless perhaps our dear government might have some reason for discrediting those pilot reports as the hallucinations of an unstable intellect. Better get that loony out of the cockpit quick! He's had a mental breakdown. Pull his medical certificate and call a shrink!

Well, friends, sure as death and taxes, one of these days--assuming we don't blow ourselves off the planet or initiate another type of extinction event--or a near-earth asteroid does it for us--we're going to get a very public visit from the little green men that NO ONE can ignore. I just hope we don't make complete, slobbering fools of ourselves when it does happen. To quote K from Men in Black again:

J:  Why the big secret? People are smart. They can handle it.

K:  A person is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you know it.

                                            --Men in Black 

Here's another quote, this one from Jude Hayes Mysteries, Book One, Remover of Obstacles:

It was near closing time and I knew the dogs would be getting fidgety. Besides, I figured I’d learned about all I could from Clicker for the moment. I had no intention of breaking my word to Tommy about steering clear of the DBC mess, and should there indeed prove to be a link with this incident, I’d back off. But I was worried about Clicker, and I thought I should nose around enough to find out if he was still in danger. Problem was, how to do that discreetly. 

I paid for my statue and said my good-byes, leaving Clicker to regale Jasmine with a spirited description of some elaborate sci-fi realm he’d visited in gamer land. She pretended interest. Loony or not, he was our loony, and the world would be a much bleaker place without that daffy grin and someone to call you “Dudette.”