The Joy of Flight

I grew up an airline brat. My father worked as a maintenance supervisor for United Air Lines, and as far back as I can remember, I have loved to fly. My first flights were on propeller planes, during a time when one still “dressed up” for the experience. My impressions from back then are of excitement and adventure; a little girl in awe of climbing into this large metal thing that my Daddy took care of, and getting to fly through the clouds; always in a brand new dress.

As I grew, the planes changed, the Stewardess outfits changed, but my love of flying only increased. Living by necessity close to San Francisco International Airport, I have memories of seeing the very first 747 parked outside the Pan American hanger. Our home sat above the airport in the hills, and a ground to tower transmission receiver and a high power telescope allowed us to listen, and watch, as aircraft approached the runways and then landed. During the late 60’s, when there was a series of highjacking’s, I remember being able to observe the drama unfold from our living room window.

My first experience on an airplane that might have caused me to rethink my fearless joy in the doing, was a trip when I was 9 to the New York World’s Fair. Instead, it had the exact opposite affect; I came through loving it all even more. A dramatic storm in New York prevented us from landing at our scheduled time. Planes destined for New York’s La Guardia Airport, were “stacked” in the air, and we found ourselves circling Pittsburg, Pennsylvania for 4 hours, landing only once for a 20 minute fuel stop. I remember the pilot announcing that no one would be allowed to leave the plane, as we’d “lose our place in line” if we were on the ground longer than 20 minutes. I remember the child in me at the time wondering if the pilot’s ever tried to “take cuts”, and finding quite amusing the thought of airplanes flying in line like people waiting for a ride at Disneyland.

When finally given permission to continue to New York, our landing was worthy of a modern Bruce Willis or Harrison Ford airplane action film; strong winds and intense rain rocked and pummeled the aircraft as lightening flashed, and the amazing spectacle of St. Elmo’s fire sparked the wings. A glance at my calm Father was all I needed in the way of reassurance (if Daddy wasn‘t nervous, than nobody was nervous), and I was free to stare out the window and relish what I took to be a most excellent exciting experience.

During the Viet Nam War, United leased jets to the Military for troop transport, and my father was responsible for the maintenance on the leased aircraft. This required him to be based at Clark Air Force Base in the Philippines for a year, and I remember spending my 13th Birthday flying there with my mother to visit him for a month. Never had I spent so many hours on one airplane, at one time; never had I experienced such a contrast in life once I arrived at our destination. I returned from that trip a changed person. It was difficult to observe the poverty, differences in culture, and experience the perspective jolting visions I did during that trip, at that age, and then return to America and be a typical adolescent. It was, literally, a life changing journey for me.

My 16th and 17th years brought me the experience of flying to Honolulu with girlfriends for two or three days of independent fun. I was blessed with trusting parents, and airline passes requiring me to pay only tax and to fly stand-by; the stand-by usually not a problem with my father’s high seniority status. Being a “good girl” had its rewards! We would stay at the Sheraton on Waikiki and being the veteran traveler that I was, my friends and I were able to smoothly navigate tours and manage our time. It was, I realize in retrospect, a great gift of trust that my parents, and the parents of my friends, gave me. It was, I think though, a more innocent time back then. Sadly, I’m not so sure all concerned would be quite so quick to grant the same freedom in this day and age.

I remember on one of these trips, the plane was held and not allowed to depart as scheduled. We had already boarded the aircraft, and I remember the stewardess coming onto the intercom to announce that due to a maintenance safety concern, we would be a few minutes late in leaving the gate.

My heart grew large, and I admit to not less than a great deal of pride, as here came my father, in his uniform and looking important and official, heading to the cockpit to personally handle the problem. When he was done, I was equally thrilled to have him come to my seat, and with a kiss on my cheek tell me that all was fine, we were safe and good to go. I vividly recall the looks of the passengers around me as he did this, and in particular the comment by a woman in the aisle across from me that, she didn’t know about anyone else, but she was greatly reassured that the mechanics daughter was on the flight!

I have logged many hours since on many different airplanes. I still adore the experience; many a friend of mine, and my husband, think I’m insane in that one of my favorite parts of flight is the take-off and landing! Why I did not get a pilot’s license, or become a stewardess, I still to this day am not quite sure of. The other-worldly sense one gets flying high above the earth has always captivated me. I personally feel that one is in greater danger driving a car on the freeway, and have not a moments concern when in flight. I respect that others do not have that sense of confidence, and only wish that they had the perspective that I have gratefully been allowed over the years.

There are two moments in my life when I acutely feel the presence of God - one is any moment I spend alone in nature - the other is in flight.