The lovely Barbara is staying with me this week so I thought I'd take the opportunity to talk with her about taking flying lessons... again. I haven't mentioned it in years (the last time left a huge impression... on both of us)... apparently nothing's changed... a BIT. Back in the 90's, Rob gave me flying lessons for my birthday one year. Needless to say, when my mom heard about this I thought her head might explode... not out of anger... out of sheer fear. And can I blame her? No. I was a teen when my dad had his accident... everything and everyone's immortal when you're pubescent. I remember being sad about what happened... very sad. However, there was never any doubt that he'd make it and be good as new (not quite). I've wanted this since my dad bought his first plane (I was 6)... in fact, for most of my life there's never (for me) been a question of it not happening. Anyway, it's been 25+ years since that dreadful day and I still LONG (there is no word to describe it) for that in-air exhilaration. Flying the big birds just doesn't do it for me... my favorite part of the whole trip is the take-off and landing... that feeling it gives you in the gut. My mom is the greatest human being I know... is it really fair of me to risk her peace of mind for my own dreams of aviation? She's sitting nearby reading a magazine and just asked me what I was doing, I replied "writing about getting my pilots license", to which she held her hand to her forehead, rolled her eyes and groaned.
Selfish much?
Quandries...