killbilly
Vocals, Lyrics, Triangle, Washboard, Kittens
I got a call this morning from a friend who was driving back to OKC from SAT. His father passed last weekend after a very long and painful battle with cancer - lived more than a year past the doc's expectations. My friend, since he was passing through, asked if I wanted to get a coffee so I met him at a local Starbucks for a couple hours.
The Old Man was a pilot. Spent a couple years in the USAF as a missile tech, but after that he did the bush pilot two-step in Alaska...from there he was a freight dawg driving 'Vans for a Fedex feeder, and he was also a glider CFI, glider owner, ferry pilot, tailwheel CFI and other sorts of winged acronyms. One interesting note was that the CFI who signed off on the Old Man's glider CFI had an original ticket that had been signed by Orville Wright...my buddy has a photocopy of it somewhere. I asked him if I could see it sometime.
He told me stories about the Old Man. He'd had some wild experiences over the years, including a 3-week ferry trip of a float plane from Florida to Alaska, with his wife (my friend's mom) playing navigator, fueler and moral-support source all through the trip. Talk about testing a marriage...
It was a nice visit, listening to him talk about his Dad. My friend isn't a certificated pilot, but he's logged plenty of stick and rudder time in gliders, a couple J3s, and .8 in a Stearman which was a hell of a story in and of itself...
On the drive home I thought about a few things...
...I think, when I reach the end of my days, I'd like to have the same kind of cache of memories that the Old Man did. The varied bits of flying experiences made for an incredibly colorful life that illustrated the man. I never met him, but felt...connected. I guess there's something about the congruency of experiences that makes a fledgling like me or his son understand the draw to strapping on a tiny machine and playing about in the sky...we all know how it feels, even if we never meet. We share that.
He never got rich, and maybe I'm romanticizing it, but I think his QoL was something to be envied...
...it was evident in chatting that my friend really worshipped his Dad. Not everyone has the benefit of the kind of parenting that my friend grew up with, and I'm sure the Old Man had his quirks and faults, but it made me realize that if my kid - if I ever changed my mind and decided to have one - turned out as well as my friend has that I'd have done a good job. The Old Man was apparently a very kind man with a great sense of humor, but tough when he needed to be. It struck me that in describing the Old Man, he was also describing the better aspects of a good CFI...which made me go a lot deeper into wondering if good CFIs on the whole make good parents in general.
Something tells me they do, but I can't know that and probably never will.
I think my friend had really finished mourning his loss long before the Old Man's body gave out...it was a peaceful departure, and my friend is still going through the Old Man's stuff - he was a pack rat and has stacks of photos, old equipment, glider stuff, logbooks, more photos...
I think sometimes about the nature of people and how they connect with each other. I wonder if a little bit of a man's bright, shining spirit gets infused into those old headsets, kneeboards, compasses, fuselages, rudders and wings that he wore, caressed or manipulated over the years.
And I wonder if part of the magic that draws most of us to flight comes from the instilled and infused passions of those who went before us...floating about in the aether, just waiting to be collected...scooped up in the air like rain on your hand out the car window...
And if that's so, then all of us have lost just a little bit with the passing of the Old Man. But there's still some invisible karma/chakra/spirit/chi call-it-whatever that each of us leaves in the sky after we bring one in. And each of us picks it up again when we take off....do you understand what I'm trying to say here? I'm having a hard time putting it into words...
Okay. No more waxing philosophical...just had some heavy thoughts and figured you guys would understand what I was feeling and thinking...
Thanks for reading.
The Old Man was a pilot. Spent a couple years in the USAF as a missile tech, but after that he did the bush pilot two-step in Alaska...from there he was a freight dawg driving 'Vans for a Fedex feeder, and he was also a glider CFI, glider owner, ferry pilot, tailwheel CFI and other sorts of winged acronyms. One interesting note was that the CFI who signed off on the Old Man's glider CFI had an original ticket that had been signed by Orville Wright...my buddy has a photocopy of it somewhere. I asked him if I could see it sometime.
He told me stories about the Old Man. He'd had some wild experiences over the years, including a 3-week ferry trip of a float plane from Florida to Alaska, with his wife (my friend's mom) playing navigator, fueler and moral-support source all through the trip. Talk about testing a marriage...
It was a nice visit, listening to him talk about his Dad. My friend isn't a certificated pilot, but he's logged plenty of stick and rudder time in gliders, a couple J3s, and .8 in a Stearman which was a hell of a story in and of itself...
On the drive home I thought about a few things...
...I think, when I reach the end of my days, I'd like to have the same kind of cache of memories that the Old Man did. The varied bits of flying experiences made for an incredibly colorful life that illustrated the man. I never met him, but felt...connected. I guess there's something about the congruency of experiences that makes a fledgling like me or his son understand the draw to strapping on a tiny machine and playing about in the sky...we all know how it feels, even if we never meet. We share that.
He never got rich, and maybe I'm romanticizing it, but I think his QoL was something to be envied...
...it was evident in chatting that my friend really worshipped his Dad. Not everyone has the benefit of the kind of parenting that my friend grew up with, and I'm sure the Old Man had his quirks and faults, but it made me realize that if my kid - if I ever changed my mind and decided to have one - turned out as well as my friend has that I'd have done a good job. The Old Man was apparently a very kind man with a great sense of humor, but tough when he needed to be. It struck me that in describing the Old Man, he was also describing the better aspects of a good CFI...which made me go a lot deeper into wondering if good CFIs on the whole make good parents in general.
Something tells me they do, but I can't know that and probably never will.
I think my friend had really finished mourning his loss long before the Old Man's body gave out...it was a peaceful departure, and my friend is still going through the Old Man's stuff - he was a pack rat and has stacks of photos, old equipment, glider stuff, logbooks, more photos...
I think sometimes about the nature of people and how they connect with each other. I wonder if a little bit of a man's bright, shining spirit gets infused into those old headsets, kneeboards, compasses, fuselages, rudders and wings that he wore, caressed or manipulated over the years.
And I wonder if part of the magic that draws most of us to flight comes from the instilled and infused passions of those who went before us...floating about in the aether, just waiting to be collected...scooped up in the air like rain on your hand out the car window...
And if that's so, then all of us have lost just a little bit with the passing of the Old Man. But there's still some invisible karma/chakra/spirit/chi call-it-whatever that each of us leaves in the sky after we bring one in. And each of us picks it up again when we take off....do you understand what I'm trying to say here? I'm having a hard time putting it into words...
Okay. No more waxing philosophical...just had some heavy thoughts and figured you guys would understand what I was feeling and thinking...
Thanks for reading.
