When I was about 3 or 4 years old, somebody gave me a toy jumbo jet. I was hooked. As I grew up I dreamed incessantly of becoming a pilot. To make the dream of flying coincide with my desire to serve in the military, I decided that I would become a military pilot.
Well, without 20/20 vision, that dream was shot down. When I was old enough, I had to make a decision. Go to flight school or join the service. I chose the service. I sometimes think I made the wrong decision, because now I can do neither.
Regardless, my fascination with flying has not yet left me. As such, I often take my children down to the Provo Airport (where my father once bought me a $300 ticket to fly aboard a B-17 bomber!) and let them watch the planes.
There also happens to be a helicopter pilot school right near the airport, so I took my son Ian to see the helicopters today.
Usually we’ll park near the flight deck and just watch the students come in for landings. The helicopters typically come in right over our heads:
After landing, the students often practice a few low altitude manuevers:
After watching for a bit, we were getting ready to leave when an instructor came up to the fence. I walked near him, expecting him to say something like, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t hang out there. It’s a dangerous distraction for our students.”
Instead he said, “If you’d like, you can bring your son back here and get some pictures of him in one of our helicopters.” My response was something like, “HECK YEAH!”
So after giving Ian a few pointers on flying:
He took me for a ride:
Well, since I failed in fulfilling my own dreams, maybe I’ll be able to live them through my children