I’ve always wanted to learn to fly.
As a child, I remember rushing outside every time an airplane flew over and staring up in wonder at it. Most of the time it would be a small, single engine Piper Cub or such. But every now and again, a huge reward would fall out of the sky so to speak.
I recall one morning being outside when I heard an approaching jet. It was low, loud, and sounded fast. I looked towards it as an F-100 Super Sabre exploded through the space overhead. It was very low, maybe two hundred feet up. My mind froze the image so I could see every line and bolt on the aircraft. The pilot had been looking down when it went over. I remember he had on his mask, his visor down, and he wore a blue and red stripped helmet.
Then like a dream, it thundered past and was gone.
And my dream flew with it.
I doubt I’d ever be able to handle a jet fighter, but I’d love to learn to fly. But I wouldn’t stop with a piper cub or a small Cessna. I’d want something I could throw around the sky and have a good time with.
Maybe a Biplane.
Fire truck red of course.
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