AOPA Pilot Magazine - May 2018 - 43

trampolines I had thought them to be
when he flew me through them in an opencockpit Stearman. I watched them dissolve
like mist the closer we flew, distraught to
discover that they were nothing more than
ethereal condensation.
Later, the lessons would grow more
complex as my flying knowledge became
my own. My dad guided me in perfecting
the art of touch-and-goes on our little grass
strip in Central Florida, making me practice again and again until I could grease an
airplane onto the ground without so much
as a shudder. The flight pattern around my
childhood home is ingrained into my memory like a photo. I could fly it with my eyes
closed, and probably did, once or twice,
just for the thrill of it. I'm more like my dad
than I realize some days.

the boyfriend I brought home from college so much that he became my husband
(although he still doesn't understand why
I won't indulge his requests for barrel rolls
in the Cub).
And so, my father's love for aviation has
touched every part of my life. When a barrage of challenges comes my way and I long
for those simple days of tailwheels aflight in
golden afternoons, my dad's favorite phrase
rings in my head: "Nothing's forever." It was
never said with resentment, bitterness, or
even wistfulness; the words always came
with a smile and a shrug, a dare to live big
in the time we're given.
Flying can be challenging and healing,
terrifying and empowering, a lesson and a
reward. Every time I turn final-and in life's
most stressful situations, when relaxing is

When a barrage of challenges comes my way and I
long for those simple days of tailwheels aflight in
golden afternoons, my dad's favorite phrase rings in
my head: "Nothing's forever."
Although I may not remember my
first flight ever, I certainly remember my
first flight solo. I was midway through my
senior year of high school, fresh from a
teenage heartbreak and only a couple of
half-hearted months into training. I wasn't
expecting it to happen that day (and certainly wouldn't have worn the brand-new
shirt I had earned from a recent 5K race if
I had known what would come of it), but
before I knew it, and before I thought I was
ready, I was up in the air by myself, piloting the very airplane that had lifted me into
the sky for the first time 18 years prior. The
exhilarating combination of freedom and
terror that I felt in that moment is a sensation only fellow pilots can understand.
When I eventually earned my private
pilot certificate just a couple months after
graduating high school, aviation came full
circle for me. I flew my friends to breakfast
at Chalet Suzanne in Lake Wales, Florida
(may its moon soup and sticky buns rest in
peace). I spent hours upon hours in the air,
invigorated by the roar of the wind and the
rich solitude it brought. And I impressed

the last thing on my mind-my dad's advice
comes to me as if through a staticky headset. "Wiggle your fingers and toes!" His
surefire way of easing tension and forcing
me to grip the controls less tightly works
as well on the ground as it does in the air.
A passion for the wild blue yonder isn't
the only love my dad imparted to me, but
as the days since his passing stretch into
years, sometimes it's the most tangible.
Polishing up a bright yellow Cub, the pungent smell of 100LL, that magical second
when ground becomes sky-it reminds me
of the man who loved these things first.
The true beauty of aviation is that it's more
than a hobby or a career path; sometimes,
it's the glue holding life's most important
relationships together. Whether I'm PIC or
crammed into a middle seat on an oversold
commercial flight, my feelings toward aviation remain the same. On the days when I
miss him most, I'm thankful that my dad is
never more than a flight away.
SKYE SHERMAN is a freelance travel writer

based in West Palm Beach, Florida.

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AOPA Pilot Magazine - May 2018

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