Got My Head In The Clouds
It was probably almost two years ago when it all happened. I
was in the shower, washing off a day of work, when my wife yelled up the
stairs, and around the corner. “Jason, your dad is on the phone!” I sighed and
replied, “Can you tell him I am naked and wet, and will call him back in a few
minutes?” As I finished making myself
beautiful, I wondered what that could be all about. Dad never calls me at home
during the week. He knows I’m almost always out on the road. I wondered, with a
little worry, if something terrible had happened.
My instincts turned out to be correct. My pop is a talented
pilot teacher (AKA: Flight Instructor.) He uses two of our Aeronca Champs to
give instruction to his students at the airport. When I called my dad back, he
informed that one of his pupils had landed a wee bit short of the runway. It
was by the luck of the draw that the airplane involved in the incident had my
name on the door. My first concern, of course, was that no one got hurt. I was
relieved to learn that the gentleman flying it was okay. The airplane, he told
me, did not fare so well. Her left landing gear was ripped off her fuselage.
She nosed over, and her prop ran into the ground (Instantly meaning an engine
rebuild would be necessary.) There was little doubt she would be out of the sky
for quite some time. I didn’t feel anger. I did feel a sense of hollowness. As
sorrowful as learning about the incident made me feel, I was very thankful that
she was not completely destroyed. That would have been devastating, especially
after knowing her since I was about sixteen years old. I am forty now. My
relationship with that airplane is probably a few months longer than that I
have with my wife.
It serves you no purpose to tell you how long two years
without her seemed to take. I would go to fly dad’s champ when I could, and I
would visit mine. She would move from the maintenance hangar, to our hangar,
and back again, as her doctor’s schedule would allow. On almost every visit, I
would run my finger along her wing and whisper quietly, “Soon baby, soon.”
Seeing progress made me happy. Better news was relayed by my father: He planned
to upgrade her engine substantially, since the whole thing had to be ripped
apart anyhow. He also told of me plans to install a radio, a modern thing she
never had (or needed) since she was born in 1946. All of these things that my
dad masterminded reinforced the notion I have of how lucky I am to be his son.
Blessed might even be a better word. I love my daddy, and yes; this includes
things unrelated to aviation. (Calm down momma. I am not playing favorites. I
love you very much too!)
So anyway, two weeks ago I had vacation. I had no grand
plans. My truck was in desperate need of
service, and it was my simple desire to not have to use one of our gross spare
trucks that made me choose that week in particular. It was pure coincidence
that 04E had started flying again the week prior. You need not be a
mathematician to know what happened next: I went out to fly her. More than
once. And it was good.
There were some rules awaiting me when I first flew her. Ten
hours needed to be flown off before she was to be considered a normal healthy
airplane again. “Stay near the airport. Keep an eye on the oil pressure and
temperature until we know the new engine is broken in and everything is okay.”
That was fine by me, I was happy enough to be in her front seat again. I don’t
think I’ll ever forget how well it felt to push her throttle forward and jump
off the ground after being apart for so long. I smile thinking about it.
Saturday was the best day of my week off. There were cotton
ball clouds of various shapes and sizes all over the place. I took off with the
goal of flying off some more hours. I knew that I had to stay near the airport,
but nobody said how high I could go. If I were above the airport at 7,000 feet
and the engine quit, it would be better than if I were at 1,500 feet because I
would have more time to think and plan out a proper landing. (If something like
that did happen, it would be no big deal. I’ve flown gliders before.) I could
tell you I went high for safety, but that is not true. I climbed and climbed
because there were things I wanted to see.
I spent over an hour between these puffy white clouds. Back
and forth, we went, around and around, here and there. I am not sure I can accurately
describe to you how that felt. I will open up my adjective wallet and pass you
a few that fit the bill: Majestic. Wonderful. Magical. Relaxing. Curious. It
was an awesome way to spend an afternoon. There are many things in my life, in
our world, that are more easily understood by me than the simple randomness of
clouds. The human body, the way plants and trees grow, even the color of the
sky in the afternoon on a clear day, it’s all figured out. Every newborn child
gets a heart. Plant life gets roots. But how, how is it decided that random
droplets of water come together to form so many shapes and sizes of these
floating cotton-balls-in-the-sky? What an amazing thing!
In the days after the verdict, things just got more
ridiculous. I have a black female friend who shared some thoughts that
disappointed me. The next day, she said something much more enlightening, then
she shared a link that, well, I just wasn’t fond of it. But I did not judge
her, because as little as I know her, I can tell she has a good heart. I also
did not grow up black. I try to understand her plight. To say that my life was
no different than hers would be ignorant of me. On the flip side stood one of
my white friends trying to make his point known. He shared a statistic about black
on black crime. I paid it no attention because he didn’t share the facts about
white on white crime. I didn’t bother asking him about it because I don’t care.
The issue is rather black and white to me: There are good people, and then
there are bad people. It has nothing to do with skin color. I wish everyone
would be good to each other.
The biggest disappointment in this whole saga is how our
Commander-In-Chief chose to speak about it. Here is a Black man who rose to the
highest level of the United States Government. I thought that would prove that
the Black people are finished with excuses, done with blaming our nation’s ugly
past. If President Obama could find such success, so could everyone else.
Instead of finding positive words to bring us all together and put the issue
behind us, he gave a speech that made it all about him. “It could have been me
thirty-five years ago.” News flash, it could have been any one of us. It was an
unfortunate event that turned tragic, happens every day. “I’ve had to experience this. I’ve had to
experience that.” We’ve all had experiences in our life that are vastly
different from each other. I am not denying there are racists who walk the
earth. There are white ones just as much as there are black ones. I am not one.
I like good people, and how I treat other humans I interact with mirrors how
they treat me. This is basic stuff we should have all learned by the time we
finished kindergarten. I am so tired of the division and am saddened that our
President’s comments only seemed to open the divide. (Way to go Mr. President.)
It makes me wonder if he, and others want to divide so they can conquer. Why
don’t all of us, whites, Blacks, Mexicans, focus on bettering ourselves,
working to help each other when need be, and move forward? That would be my
message if I were President.
Tour guide being dude: “And this is what is known as ‘Planet
Earth.’”
Being that is being shown around: “It’s beautiful!”
Tour guide being dude: “Yes, but it’s a failed experiment.”
Being that is being shown around: “Why? It looks so
perfect.”
Tour guide being dude: “Well, lots of things went wrong.
Mankind has turned against each other, almost from the beginning, and it’s
getting worse. It could be an ego thing, or it could be a side effect of
organized religion. The wars, the constant man-versus-man struggles are so out
of hand that it won’t be much longer until they kill themselves off completely.
We gave them a beautiful planet with lush green forests and streams, beaches
and deserts. They have sunrises and sunsets that can be nothing short of
artistic at times. Thunderstorms and snow, it was all meant to be taken in and
enjoyed. Instead, they worry most about what the other guy is doing. It’s a
greedy planet. There is a huge lack of compassion.”
Being that is being showed around: “Surely there must be
some people that appreciate the human experience….”
Tour guy being dude: “Oh, there are plenty, but not enough.
I know some guy given the name of Jason. He drives around in something called a
tractor-trailer. He spends his days roaming the roads wondering why everyone is
in so much of a hurry. He also has a collection of fifty-thousand pictures of
the sun, and he’s not done yet. And stop calling me Shirley.”
Seriously, can you imagine the quietness that these two
fictional beings would hear when looking down on what seems to be a peaceful
planet? There might be a little solar wind, otherwise, nothing. If they were to
descend, the noise would become unbearable once they hit street level. The
yelling, the horns and heavy-metal music, it’s all quite terrible. It’s no
wonder that aliens haven’t made their presence known; they would be embarrassed
to be caught here for goodness sakes. (By the way- airplane noise is completely
acceptable. Everyone knows that.)
The best that I can figure is everyone needs a cause to
fight for. It’s sometimes easier to think the way everyone is else is thinking
instead of thinking for yourself, tragic as it is. Why that is, I don’t know.
We should not be afraid of individuality. I thrive on thinking for myself,
treating everyone as an equal to me, and soaking in everything beautiful life
has to offer.
I’ve never written on political matters before, and I do not
intend to again. I don’t feel I am educated or informed enough on our troubles.
But I do know they exist. I don’t understand the point of dwelling on them or
making them worse through back-and-forth hate filled discussions. People seem
to complicate matters by over-thinking them way too much, and that dismays me.
Clouds, on the other hand, are quite the opposite. They simply hang out,
looking beautiful, creating wonder. They don’t talk much, even about each
other. These are a few of the reasons I like being with them. You may have read
what I have written here and thought, “This man has his head in the clouds.”
You would be correct, and I quite enjoy it.
I would like to extend my sincere thanks to my father, our
friend Ray, and our mechanic-friend Russ for all of their combined efforts to
get 04E back in the sky.
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