The pilots I have the pleasure of knowing LOVE and I do mean LOVE their job. They are jovial, a bit cocky and completely vintage cool. While outwardly fairly straight-laced and serious they have a sparkle in their eyes that reminds me of Kerouac’s ‘fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars’. They burn.
It has taken a few years to get to know them and it’s not often that we have time to chat but when we do, boy, do they have stories! Their stories fall in the same category as fabled fisherman’s tales where the fish grows exponentially with each iteration. They seem to adhere to a old-world code of conduct and I feel privileged to see a little glimpse of it – it seems romantic and dashing even as they suck in their bellies when we walk past them. They spin their own magic, as truth be told, we are often flying from Atlanta to some obscure mid-west town but they find a way to make it exciting - sprinkling in glamour and drama to support their hobby-cum-livelihood or vise versa.
My Dad used to burn like that and still would be if he were able to – he is the guy who loathes menial-ity and is bored by routine. It seems like he has gotten mired up in a bit of that off late. Thus it is nice to see days like this where he is having fun with his grandkids - spinning magic, reclaiming aspects of his youth.
Somehow flying has always held that intrigue, appeal of adventure and glamour for him as well – a pilot at heart, a traveler of the world in a very fundamental way, a man who has never met a stranger. I wonder if my pilots are like this as well. Are their burning eyes sparkling at the thought of distracting themselves and entertaining me as a means to escape their day to day realities? I hope not. I hope the spark is a fire of passion that runs deep and true.
It has taken a few years to get to know them and it’s not often that we have time to chat but when we do, boy, do they have stories! Their stories fall in the same category as fabled fisherman’s tales where the fish grows exponentially with each iteration. They seem to adhere to a old-world code of conduct and I feel privileged to see a little glimpse of it – it seems romantic and dashing even as they suck in their bellies when we walk past them. They spin their own magic, as truth be told, we are often flying from Atlanta to some obscure mid-west town but they find a way to make it exciting - sprinkling in glamour and drama to support their hobby-cum-livelihood or vise versa.
My Dad used to burn like that and still would be if he were able to – he is the guy who loathes menial-ity and is bored by routine. It seems like he has gotten mired up in a bit of that off late. Thus it is nice to see days like this where he is having fun with his grandkids - spinning magic, reclaiming aspects of his youth.
Somehow flying has always held that intrigue, appeal of adventure and glamour for him as well – a pilot at heart, a traveler of the world in a very fundamental way, a man who has never met a stranger. I wonder if my pilots are like this as well. Are their burning eyes sparkling at the thought of distracting themselves and entertaining me as a means to escape their day to day realities? I hope not. I hope the spark is a fire of passion that runs deep and true.
