Flying across generations

I caught the flying bug early in life, but I'm not sure where exactly it came from. To the best of my knowledge, there wasn't anyone in my family tree that was an aviator. My dad was horse guy and I have memories of him departing for a weekend now and then with my grandfather to attend events with intriguing names like The Little Brown Jug.

Others inherited their interest in airplanes from their parents or other members of their family. This is something that I hope happens with Co-pilot Egg, but it's not something that can be forced. It's also often something that won't be known until much later in her life. Their lives are so very full of new and different things and at least in the case of Egg, flying is mundane. She's never known a time in her life when I wasn't a pilot.

She is by no means unique in this. A Twitter buddy posted a link to a very moving story about a father/son flying relationship. You really should read the whole thing (here), but here's a sample to get you started:

My earliest memories are of pointing to the sky, having detected the far-off drone of a piston engine. Dad had been a pilot since before I was born. He flew a pea-green Cessna 172 from Rialto Municipal in Southern California. I can remember with crystal clarity those lazy Saturday afternoons at the airport, helping him push back the big hangar doors and leaning my small weight against the airplane’s struts as he pulled it into the sun.

I read him checklists, learning words like “aileron,” “magnetos,” and “pitot” that no one else in my first-grade class knew.

Egg could also describe the function of the flaps, rudder, and elevator should it ever come up in casual conversation. She knows nothing of these "struts," though. Those are for sissies.