Trading Places

While not an adventure as such it really did happen and an event I cannot tell another about in person without tears coming to my eyes and not choking on the last two words I say.

It was the summer of 1966 and for some reason that eludes me to this day I decided I wanted to be a pilot. I first thought of jets and talked to the Navy and Air Force. They were not very encouraging because of my lack of a college degree but did offer to let me take the test. I did and failed. Then I thought the Army might be the way to go. The first person I mentioned the matter to was Carl Simonie, my high school English teacher. He just shook his head and said, "Well you know where they will send you."

I then thought it best to say something to my family. That is when the trouble began. They went wild with dread and worry. It seemed like they were more concerned about southeast Asia than I was.  My dad, a veteran of Korea told me he really couldn't give me any advice because if he said go do it and then I got "shot up" he would forever feel responsible. If he told me to wait and then I went and got shot it would be his fault also. My grandmother cried most of the time, my mom did almost the same, my aunts and uncles got after me about how could I do this to my family. My grandfather did not say much at all.

As the time drew nearer for me to take the test that would determine the family future it seemed, the more intense it got around the house. It became almost unbearable, it seemed like the tension could not even be cut with a knife.

Finally it was the morning of the big test. I was standing out on the back porch. My grandfather came out, looked me in the eye and said, "Do you really want to be a helicopter pilot?" I responded yes. "Then son you go do it. I just want you to remember one thing. If I could go in your place, I would." .....Gee I thought I could get through writing  this account without tears anyway.