My father was born the year Charles Lindbergh's first solo flight across the Atlantic. From an early age, he fell in love with airplanes and flying. He wanted to enlist in the Army Aircorp in World War II, his mother refused to consent, and by the time he was drafted late in the war, they were no longer training pilots. In the early 1950's he quit smoking, and learned to fly. He figured money wise it was about a wash, and one might be healthier than the other.
As a consequence I grew up around little airports, and little airplanes. The image above was from a typical Sunday morning.
I think I'd rather take my chance with smoking rather than flying regularly in small planes.
ReplyDelete65 years after my father quit smoking, he died from lung cancer.
DeleteI don't mind watching planes, I would just rather not sit in one.
ReplyDeleteThat’s okay
DeleteI love your candid snaps from your past.
ReplyDelete