January 10
Flight
I am thankful for flight-that of birds, that of humans. Flight allows us to achieve heights and destinations not otherwise possible, at least in a short amount of time.
This is my daughter Beth during a recent visit to City Park in New Orleans clowning it up.
I inherited from my father a fear of flying. But after the plane leaves the runway, I enjoy every minute of it. I marvel at the views from the sky. It helps put life in perspective.
fear of flying
i would gladly be the first
to soar very high above the ground
but what scares me most
ain’t the going up
but the coming down.
© rt tulley
Here's a little story I wrote that tells about myself and my dad's fear of flying:
My fingers clawed into the armrest as the plane taxied down the runway. The muscles of each forearm held its attached fingers tightly in position. My arms felt like those of a weight lifter pulling up on very heavy dumbbells. I am reminded of my less than frequent visits to the dentist. Sitting in the chair, with his hands and instruments in my mouth, no matter how I tell myself to relax, no matter how I try to visualize myself floating on an air mattress, bobbing up and down in the Gulf, I feel the muscles tense, the old claws digging in.
I recite my pre-flight ritualistic prayer and listen intently to every word and watch every movement of the safety demonstration, even though I know it by heart. I check the location of all exits and make sure I count the number of seats between myself and the nearest door, just in case I won’t be able to see through the smoke. I don’t feel at ease until the plane brakes to a stop at the end of the flight and I step through the doors of the plane into the terminal.
I suspect I inherited my fear of flying from Dad. I remember the stories of his first transcontinental flight. In October 1959, Amos Molded Plastics sent him to Europe for two months to obtain some important information and make valuable contacts. He knew he couldn’t con his way out of flying both directions, so he worked on Dale Amos, his boss, to reduce the number of flights by half. Dad talked him into letting him return via the Queen Mary luxury liner so that he could write the report of his trip. On the return trip he had time to relax, contemplate the business aspects of his trip, and win the dance contest. I’m not sure if he wrote the report.
Back in those days, they had air activated life preservers rather than seat cushion/flotation devices. It seems that during the safety demo, my father listened and watched as intently as I do in these modern days. The Stewardess had each passenger put their vest on and showed them where to pull to activate the air pump. She warned them not to pull it at that time. Of course, my father being the original inquisitive and anxious flyer of the family, had to make sure it worked. He pulled. The vest engorged with air, filling to its maximum, isolating Dad with the evidence irremovably and visibly stuck tightly around his neck.
“Now you’ve done it!” shouted the stewardess. “You won’t have one when we crash”
“When we crash?”thought my father. As punishment, she took the vest away from him. I can imagine how he felt during the flight. At least she could have let him keep it on until landing! I’m sure he would have worn it all the way to Germany. It’s no wonder he danced like a fool on his way back home. It’s interesting that Dad worked as an airplane engineer in the Wing Division of the famous SB2C Hell Diver Navy plane at Curtis-Wright in his first job out of college. Perhaps he learned things the general public is not supposed to know.
© rt tulley