As the National Air and Space Museum gears up for its All Night at the Museum 40th anniversary celebration July 1-2, I can’t help but recall the night in July 1976 that I almost spent at the newly opened Museum — until the police found me and returned me to my parents, that is.

Thanks to some family business, we ended up staying in Washington, DC during the Bicentennial. I don’t remember how we first heard of the National Air and Space Museum, but I was a fairly recently minted aviation buff at age 10. (I had heard the Royal Guardsmen’s song Snoopy vs. the Red Baron at a friend’s house and began looking up books on Manfred von Richthofen in the adults section of my small town’s local library.)

I can still vividly recall my excitement at being in Washington, touring the National Mall and the Smithsonian’s museums — and setting off on my own little sightseeing saga.

At some point, walking with my parents between what was then called the History and Technology building and the Natural History building, something compelled me to take off running down the Mall toward the Air and Space Museum. Perhaps we had started our day there and I hadn’t had enough, or perhaps I was just eager to see it at last — that part is not clear.

What remains crystal clear is the fact that, for the next few hours, my parents had no clue where I was. I, of course, knew exactly where I was: Ensconced at the Museum, spending the few dollars I had in my pocket on the brand-new Air and Space guide and some space-age dried ice cream at the gift shop.

At that time, the entire Museum was not open to the public — just a small portion of the first floor was accessible prior to the grand opening. The Wright Flyer, Spirit of St. Louis, and P-40 Warhawk were among the few key planes on display. I’d walk outside the Museum every few minutes, guide in hand, figuring my parents had to be on their way to get me. When they didn’t show, I’d simply walk back inside and tour the limited exhibits yet again.

As night descended, and with my parents still not appearing (no cell phones then, of course), I finally told a guard that I had been separated from my folks. I think he made a few calls and then invited me to sit with him in his booth in the entrance area.

And then, thrill of thrills! The guard pulled out his lunch and said that after he finished his sandwich, he’d take me around to the as-yet-unopened exhibits. I had visions of sliding in the cockpit behind the twin Spandaus of a Fokker DVII in the dark corners of the WWI exhibit.

What kills me to this day? Just as soon as the guard took his last bite, there appeared my mom and dad — and what appeared to be a passel of detectives — marching through the big glass entrance doors to retrieve me.

Ah, what might have been. My late-night personal tour of the world’s premier collection of aircraft, unhindered by fellow travelers, thwarted at the 11th hour just because my parents were a tad concerned about my whereabouts in an unfamiliar city.

Since then, I’ve returned to the Museum more than a dozen times. It’s usually my first stop in DC, even before I drop a single bag in my hotel room. I can play practically the entire To Fly movie in my head.

To say the National Air and Space Museum is a magical place is quite the understatement. During my visit to the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center years later, I recall watching a pair of elderly gentlemen standing before the Enola Gay and talking about their time as crewmen on their own B-29.

Watching the the Museum grow more awe-inspiring each passing year has been a pleasure to behold. Cheers to all of you who continue to make its mission a reality.

This visitor story comes from Geoff Giordano. Geoff works as an editor, marketing consultant, and tech journalist in the New York City area. @GeoffGiordano
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