Flying Lessons by Cindy Pinkston

I turned thirteen in the summer of 1970.  I had set several goals for myself over that summer; they included letting my hair grow out, losing weight, getting more attractive glasses, and acquiring a new wardrobe.  I lived on bullion, ice chips and very little food, and over the warm summer months, my clothing did indeed get looser.

The eye exam was scheduled and new glasses were purchased. My grandmother took me shopping for clothes even though she really couldn't afford them. I had no concept then of what sacrifices she was making just to bolster my self-esteem.

That same summer, my Grandpa Charlie took me on my first flying lesson.  He had established (after many years of dashed hopes and much toil) his own flight school at a nearby private airport. He had worked as a flight instructor and was not a man of means. So over the years, he had come close to realizing his dream more than once, only to have one or more of the financial backers pull out at the last moment, leaving him to pick up the pieces and start all over again.

But on this warm summer day in August of 1970, both he and I had realized our respective dreams.

He took me step by step through the pre-flight check process, treating me with respect as if I were one of his adult students. Inside the aircraft, he explained each instrument to me, as we prepared for take-off. (I had flown with him before, but always in the back seat, never up front – I felt so grown up).

Once we were off the ground, he talked me through each motion, each subtle adjustment of the equipment.

The day was bright and clear, and the view was wonderful, but most of all it was about just being with him, sharing in his passion.

He had wanted to fly and be a pilot, since before he was 20 years old. His own mother had ridiculed him for “having such a notion”, but my Grandma Ellen had supported him in this - even when they were dirt poor.

I was happy for him that his dream had become a reality.

There was heightened excitement when it came time to touch down. I was nervous and afraid I couldn’t do it myself. “Papa” reassured me I could, that together, we would. So we circled the landing field and I landed the plane!

I was so proud!

That was my first flying lesson.  It was also my last.

Papa got cancer.  By mid-November, he was gone.  Three months.  Ninety days.  I was so angry. 

I stopped wearing my new wardrobe and stuck to a couple of pairs of jeans and two old sweatshirts. 

I came home from school every afternoon and slept through until the next morning.

There was a popular song at the time by James Taylor “Fire and Rain”. The words would run over and over in my mind...

“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain.

I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end.

I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend.

But I always thought that I’d see you one more time again.”

P.S. 1: Hope you enjoyed this poignant piece by Cindy Pinkston.  If you want to read more of Cindy’s writing, you can check out other posts written by her on my Pinterest board Cindy’s Corner.

P.S. 2: This piece is dedicated to my uncle Trevor Keelor and other brave souls such as him. Besides winning a Vir Chakra, the highest award for bravery on the battlefield in India, Trevor Keelor is remembered for having accomplished a Sully Sullenberger type feat in 1964, when he successfully force landed a Gnat plane which had engine trouble. You can read about it here. Trevor's brother Denzil is also a Vir Chakra pilot and you can read about him here.

P.S. 3: I hope some of the young gals reading this will be inspired to become future “Pancho Barnes”. Yes, the flying world has many women adventurers too.

P.S. 4: Not all my heroes pilot planes. If you want to read about my other personal heroes, you can read about Uday and Nithya here, and George and James Dennehy and Vinita Piyaratna here.

P.S.5: As always thanks for reading and hope 2012 is the year in which you pursue your biggest dreams and conquer your biggest fears.