When I was 5 years old, I invented the Travel Genie. OK, you may be wondering if this was a child’s version of the modern garage door opener? No way, José. Perhaps you think it was the precursor to AAAuto (Get a new plan, Stan). Or that it was the GPS system of its day (when in doubt, read directions).
Nay, not so. My Travel Genie was just that. He was at least a million feet tall, generally wafted around the planet shirtless, had one of the heaviest gold earrings I’ve ever seen, and spoke Turkish…or Persian…or some other Arabic language. He wore Ali Baba pants which created the most terrible of winds when he moved and had coal black eyes big as saucers.
He was fearsome and handsome. Kind of the Johnny Depp of his age. And I was the only person who could see him. He was not an imaginary friend, as some children are prone to have. He was just a stroke of pure imagination, designed to address a real-life situation.
He did not live inside a magic lamp. Truthfully, I’m not sure where he habitated. Maybe somewhere in the depths of the Grand Canyon, which would be deep and dark enough to hide such a splendiferous personage.
And because he didn’t live inside a magic lamp, I didn’t need to rub anything to summon him. Nor did I have to utter a phrase like, “Yo, dude. Let’s busta move.” We were mentally connected, and my unspoken wish was his command.
I invented TG at such a tender time because, prior to the age of 18, our family moved a lot. My dad was a college professor, and it was a family joke that I would spend every other birthday in some new locale. For a while, this actually proved to be the case. At least until we hit Ohio. I am Virgo on the cusp, so my birthday always preceded the start of any given academic year.
My invention would come as no surprise to people who knew me at the age of 4. That was the time when my sibs were in diapers and drooling. I had a play room all to myself, and one Christmas Eve, I noticed a red light in the sky. I went running through the house screaming that Rudolph was on his way, and it was time to hit the sack. I was completely unfamiliar with airplane lighting requirements.
Our first significant move was from Berkeley, the city of my birth, to Sacramento, CA, where I attended first grade. Here is the idea behind the Travel Genie: rather than hopping in a car and driving miles upon miles to reach a destination, TG would gently grasp me around the waist, lift me in a vertical direction from, let’s say, Berkeley, make a glorious horizontal sweep to the southeast, and plunk me down in a new destination, say Sacramento. The whole thing took a matter of seconds.
Things like trees, power lines and other low-level interferences were not a hindrance or problem. Neither, apparently, was the personal Gs one would gather upon movement from the proverbial Point A on the way to Point B in such a manner. Why let details get in the way?
Give me credit for being eco-oriented and socially aware even then. TG wasn’t a gas guzzler, and didn’t require much beyond a “thank you” for services performed. I don’t think he ate anything…
As the trips got longer, say to Tulsa, OK and then back to Arcata, CA, TG’s grasp was certainly outpaced his reach. The crushing blow, however, came when we pulled up stakes in Arcata and headed for Bowling Green, OH. I bid TG mental fond farewell, knowing even he wasn’t capable of such a grandiose maneuver.
But all these years later, TG remained on my mind. He was, frankly, a tour de force. I’ve considered him as fodder for a children’s book, and may one day commit imagination to paper.
Don’t get me wrong: I always loved car travel when we moved. I saw so much of this country from the back seat of a car; certainly enough for a Johnny Cash song. But TG was the ultimate imaginary figment: built to order, built to last.
With all the craziness at the American gas pump, I could sure use my ethereal bud now. We could start with this week’s trip to the bank!
