Mom came down for breakfast this morning, and about the second thing she said was “Where were you all day yesterday?”
“I was out at the airport taking a flying lesson.”
For just a second, reality went into freeze-frame mode. She stopped, absolutely still, and it seemed like I could watch her turn about six successive shades of pale in rapid succession. She blinked, once, and turned to me. “Flying? in an Airplane?”
Communication between Mom and I has been difficult since my dad left, about 4 months ago. She’s working full time at the hospital respiratory therapy department, and taking night school courses for nursing school. As such, I don’t really see her much except on the weekends. Still, for whatever reason, she seems much more shocked and upset than I expected her to be.
A lot of the ensuing discussion is a blur now, but Mom was alternately outraged that a sixteen year old could do something so dangerous without parental permission, and entreating me to not do things like this without telling her in advance. I, on the other hand, am convinced that this is something I desperately want to do, and am, of course, in love with the idea.
What I didn’t realize until many years later, was that learning to fly was the first thing in my lifetime that was entirely my idea, start to finish, with no adult inspiration or direction to push me. At the time, I just thought it was the coolest thing in the world.
Snippet of conversation:
“You aren’t even old enough to have a driver’s license, how can you fly a plane?”
“I can fly solo at 16 according to the FAA”
“The FAA may say you can, but I sure don’t”
I have the feeling that this is going to be a difficult summer.