I started flying just after turning 16. I worked as an assistant to the flight school's mechanic over the summer, and then as a dispatcher, and paid the way through most of my training. I skipped school on my 17th birthday to take my checkride.
I wrote an article about it on my little parenting/personal website, which you can read, if you want. Warning: It's long!
I'm such a dork, but I'm pretty sure we're allowed to be after our first flight on our own!
Flyin' Solo - Blast From The Past
When I was little, I always begged my parents to let me taking flying lessons. I remember living in Worcester, Massachusetts, driving by the airport, seeing little handmade signs for lessons, and asking every time. I was always told “when you’re 16, you can go take lessons”. I can’t imagine that the incoherently scribbled advertisements helped my cause, but they were the only tangible reminder of my “dream”. Anyway, when I was 13, we moved down to Florida, and without seeing the signs every day, I stopped asking.
Fast forward a few years. I was 16, and a friend started talking about the lessons he was taking. Yes, lessons. Flying lessons. Instantly, Beggar Mike, the Sequel, began filming. Every day I’d ask, and receive the same nauseating response. Finally, I asked point-blank why they had promised me lessons at 16, and were now not following through.
“We lied.”
That was it. My dreams were crushed, and I could no longer go on. Or, so they thought. A few days after being told the truth, I took matters into my own hands. With a few hundred dollars of what I had made in one mutant year of web design job after web design job, I skipped school, my provoking friend in tow, and headed to the airport. If they weren’t going to let me fly, I was going to do it on my own. I plunked down my $99 for a discovery flight, watched the videos they told me to watch, and waited around for an available instructor and airplane.
The details aren’t important. The first flight was, as I anticipated, amazing! I was hooked, and I was going to fly. I brought my pilot logbook, my receipt, and my brochure home, and waited for my parents to get home. It was time to put it all on the line. After checking to make sure that my cajones were where they were supposed to be, I told them. I told them about skipping school. I told them about the videos, my instructor, my airplane (N744SP, my trusty C-172), and how I had the best day of my life behind their backs. I spilled the beans, and didn’t give a **** about the consequences. They could punish me, ground me for life, or lock me in a room filled with cockroaches and Rosie O’Donnell. It didn’t matter, I’d done it.
The events that occurred after my confession confused me at the time. They didn’t yell. They didn’t get pissed. And, much to my relief, they didn’t lock me in a room with roaches and Rosie. They sat there, and let me spew the magical details, and when I was done, they talked about how to get me through my training. I didn’t understand why it happened this way until recently. I realized, as a result of being a parent myself, that they were only testing me to see if I would take a stand for something that I really wanted. I did, and I was rewarded for it.
I soloed not long after my discovery flight. It was, and still is, one of the greatest achievements of my life. I picked up a job working at my flight school in exchange for flight time, and ended up skipping school again (with their approval, of course), to get my private pilot’s license on my 17th birthday, the youngest legal age for someone to become a licensed pilot. I will always be grateful for their help, and the fact that they believed in me, or more importantly, forced me to believe in myself.
The point is, many people focus on what their parents did wrong, and what they are going to do differently with their kids. Sure, they messed up, and guess what, so will you! Just be sure to realize that there are plenty of things they did that your kids will be lucky to experience, if you acknowledge them, and follow through.
