Diary of a Teenage Time Traveler

Diary Entry January 11, 2067

New Zealand was phenom! Okay, at first, I was all thinking it would be weird with Mom and Dad watching me have my first ink done, but they were so cool about it! I couldn’t believe it.

First, we tripped back to 2050—before I was even born—and Dad let me have command of the cockpit while he watched from the passenger seat. I was millimeters from getting everything right. I forgot the dang cloaking device, though. Once we landed, Dad had to remind me to employ it, but other than that, I was on top of my game.

Dad even let me wear the wrist watch. He never lets me wear the watch. He loves that thing—had it designed to resemble old fashioned digital watches from the 1980s, which he swears are easy to fit into any decade, except the earlier centuries, which we hardly ever visit anyway.

What was I saying before? Oh yeah, so it was the first time I’ve ever been in charge of navigating outside the time-craft. I already knew how to use the holographic compass. Dad’s always projecting it at the dinner table and pointing out techniques that I usually yawn over, but apparently they must’ve sunk in because I knew exactly what I was doing with that thing.

Obviously, I knew how to operate the watch, but I could tell by the eager look on Dad’s face he was dying to give me instructions. His mouth would part like he was about to say something, and his brows lift and slant, but Mom would lay a hand on his arm, like some silent reminder to keep it zipped and let me do my thing. And he did, even though I could tell it was driving him bonkers.

I only messed up once with navigation--took us NSW instead of NSE where we ended up at a dead-end. After some meandering off course, we found our way back to the main strip. The Warrior Festival had started a day earlier, which was another thing I got wrong when I plotted the coordinates, but it really wasn’t a huge deal. The streets were bustling with life!

Thousands of people dressed in traditional aboriginal warrior gear paraded the streets. Drums were thumping, bright colored feathers were everywhere from ankles to wrists to headdresses, and the most magical tribal tattoos were streaked up and down arms and legs and faces! One group of guys even had everlast sparklers coming out of their mouths! The smell of firecrackers drenched the air, along with roasted corn and incense. And the cheering was like a psychedelic symphony of high-pitched birds chirping and clicking in time with the drums. So much energy! Sometimes I’d find my foot tapping without me even trying.

I knew right away why Dad wanted me to get my ink there, knew how the vibe of the moment would be captured forever, and that what happened that day would mean more to me in the future than it could ever mean now. I can’t imagine a better place or time to etch the memory on my skin forever. It was unlike any other festival Mom and Dad have dragged me to. Now I know why they’re so fond of those memories.

Let me tell you, the warrior dancing was wilder than anything I’ve ever seen. They did this wide-eyed intimidation thing with their faces, nostrils flaring, tattoos swirled across their skin like freakish snakes, which Dad says is all part of the ancient warrior tradition. It was a feast for the senses, and I hated to miss a second of it, but the time window was closing every minute, and I had a date with a tattoo artist.

We found an ink parlor off the main strip and had to wait over an hour to get in. So many people were waiting for fresh tats. I didn’t realize the whole festival is really like one big tattoo fest that helps promote the independent arts. Dad says they do something like this in Daytona Beach, Florida, only with jetpackers, and on a much smaller scale. I'm pretty sure what I saw in New Zealand was way cooler.

All along, Mom hadn’t been thrilled with the idea of me inking my face, but I reminded her it was so not a big deal. Face ink has been “in” for at least three years, and I’ve shown her tons of pictures of people sporting face tats. Pop culture doesn't exactly reach us up in the Arctic, except for online forums, and Mom and Dad don't pay attention to that stuff if it doesn't find its way into the science and politics forums.