We were visiting the Space Center just south of Houston and adjacent to Johnson Space Center, so I envisioned, well, something out of this world. I thought we'd see plasma televisions, computers, and lighting like we've never witnessed before. I thought the building would be futuristic. I even imagined it being spherical, although I'm not sure why.

What we found at the Space Center, however, was time travel of a different sort -- straight to the 1960s.

"It just seem so ordinary," I kept saying to Dustin.

What did I expect? he wanted to know.

We boarded a tram that looked like it had been rescued from Disney's used-tram junk yard (this wasn't the monorail), and embarked on a tour of the actual base.

"The tour is one and a half hours," the guide said. "And there aren't any bathrooms."

I looked at Dustin.

"Is that too long?" he asked.

Anything that lasts more than 15 minutes is too long when you have three children  -- all under the age of seven and one of them in diapers -- along with you. But I could see that Dustin was excited as a kid in a toy shop to be getting on that tram bound for the real-life space center. So, the five of us piled into a tight row with cracked plastic seats, and I hoped that the baby would not dirty his diaper.
"I'm surprised they don't have a sophisticated monorail or something," I whispered to Dustin. But he wasn't listening. He and our three boys wanted to see rockets and spaceships.

The base looked oddly familiar even though I had never been there before. The buildings were plain and square. Plaques that looked more functional than they did aesthetic were on the sides of each building to mark their fancy address: "Building 2"; "Building 3," etc. Evidence of utilities -- pipes, wriring, eletrical boxes -- were peppered on the sides of the street and attached to the buildings like aggressive spaghetti. Steamed billowed out of holes in the ground. Then I realized why everything seemded so familiar: The Johnson Space Center looked like every other military base I've ever been to in my life. It was plain, functional, and lacking all comforts. It looked like it was designed by men. Based solely on first appearances, you'd never believe a place such as this could put a man on the moon.

In one of the buildings, we saw where astronauts train to manuevuer in the International Space Station. Giant mock-ups were crowded into a hagar several stories tall. There was even a simulator of the space shuttle. Now my kids were really amazed. They pressed their noses against the glass. I noticed an employee down below, walking between the modules. He was like a celebrity to us: someone who works at the actual space station! But then, for reasons I don't know, I began to think about all the times I went with my Navy dad onto the aircraft carriers at Norfolk Naval Base. I have been on almost every aircraft carrier on the East Coast, and growing up, my visits to them were as insignnificant to me as I imagine trips to an office building may be for a child whose dad is an accountant or lawyer. I climbed ladders and gangplanks, walked around jets in the hangar, and once, before the ships were adjusted to accommodate women, I used the men's head. None of these things ever seemed unusual to me. Until I saw my dad's workplace through someone else's -- a visiting relative or friend -- eyes.
Now I watched the man at the space center and realized that he is not unlike you and me. He probably has a wife calling his cell phone to ask, "Will you be home for dinner tonight?" and a child who wants to know if Dad will be there for his school play. Yes, he may send men to the moon and beyond, but the man himself, and the place where he works, is just as normal -- just as earthly -- as anything else you've ever seen.

At the end of our tram ride, we passed a cicular grove of trees that is a memorial to all the astronauts who have died on missions. It is a modest, humble memorial. Nothing flashy. You woudln't even know it was there if someone didn't point it out. Just like the base surrounding it, the memorial was very much "of this world."
It seemed fitting that we paused to honor the grove of trees on Memorial Day weekend. Because it's true that the astronauts, just like servicemembers, have a mission that is incomprehensible to some, and yet the risks to both are entirely human. And that makes their sacrifice and their work all the more commendable.