Start of the journey

I'm a just-over-50 MWM with a (so-far) unfulfilled dream -- to be a pilot.

There never seemed to be a good time to get started on my ticket. There was always a different priority, or not enough money, or too much busy-ness elsewhere in my life. Or something. But I never stopped thinking about taking those steps and getting my license.

I was one of those nerdy kids growing up in the early 60's who loved anything to do with aviation, flying, airplanes, spacecraft, science fiction, astronauts, and anything else with (or without) wings, as long as it was off the ground. TV shows included Star Trek, Lost in Space ("danger Will Robinson"), My Favorite [sic] Martian, It's About Time, The Jetson's. I had posters on my bedroom walls of Gemini/Titan rockets blasting off the pad, group photos of the original seven, and a poster of the cockpit of an aircraft with thousands of knobs, buttons, dials and (steam) guages. I wanted to fly, and I talked about it, but it remained an interest and I never managed to turn talk into action.

Through the teen years there were many distractions, including sports, academics, girls. And no knowledge - I had no idea how to turn an idea into an action.

In the university years there was no money. And it would have been difficult to manage the "8 hours from bottle to throttle" while living in residence.

Then came marriage, with a wife that I loved spending time with, who had not the slightest interest in flying, so I could either be with her or be off doing something alone. Hmmm, maybe later.

And then came a career doing work that I loved, with the hours required.

Then children, with the attendent responsibilities, and a feeling that the timing was not right to start an expensive and riskier-than-average hobby.

Many years passed, but I never stopped talking about flying, and reading about flying. My kids thought I was the smartest man around when we'd be fishing from the shore of a lake, and a plane would fly overhead and I'd look up and say "that's a Boeing 727". When we were flying somewhere on vacation and a clunk came from somewhere under the aircraft they'd look to dad wondering what fell off, and I'd re-assure them it was just the normal sound of the landing gear lowering.

Excuses or reasons or procrastination or a failure to make a dream come true? All of the above, I guess. But the years were busy and productive, so I'd like to think that flying just never managed to percolate to the top of the to-do list.

That ended two days after my fiftieth birthday, courtesy of my son in particular, and my family in general. But that's the next post.