Gratitude, Day 19: my pilots

I’ve mentioned that I’m surrounded by musicians, but I’m also surrounded by pilots.  Growing up, other kids had dads working on old cars in the garage.  Mine was working on old airplanes.

Family trip?  Head to the neighborhood airport and pack the 4-seater Cessna.  My stepmom took her first solo flight at 40.  I’m getting close to that age myself and don’t think I’m brave enough for a pilot’s licence.  Despite the fact that I grew up in small aircraft and love flying, I think the pilot gene passed me by.

I wish this wasn’t so. Maybe it’s because my early driving record was not… stellar.  And there is no such thing as a flying fender-bender.

So perhaps the pilot gene skips a generation?  Last year my dad completed building his RV-8.  It’s a speedy little stunt plane and unbelievably fun.  Violet was just tall enough this summer to see out the canopy with her booster seat strapped into the cockpit.  Her first flight.

I assumed she would get a little nervous, maybe even air-sick.  So I suggested my dad just  run the flight pattern and land.  But oh no.  She could not. Get. Enough.

She was fascinated and thrilled didn’t bat an eye at any kind of turbulence or G-force or speed.  I think she would have begged for a barrel roll if she knew what one was.

Afterwards she immediately went to the fair and rode the roller coaster 27 times.

So yeah.  She could be a pilot.  Violet the Pilot.  I would be proud.

It’s true.  My parents are cooler than me, and my daughter is too.  At least I get to hang out with them.