A father's legacy

My memories of him are filled with laughter and play. He would challenge Mom and me to H-O-R-S-E in the driveway or Willie Mays ball in the cove. (That’s a pop-fly game for non-baseball people). I didn’t know I was practicing my skills; it always felt like a game. I still love sports to this day because of that gift. Or when I was memorizing something for a test, Dad would make up little acronyms that had me giggling the next day at school. (Pilot rule number one, right? There’s an acronym for everything.) Dad was a pilot, first for the U.S. Air Force, then for FedEx. But I never remember him saying he had to go to work. It was always, “See you next week. I’m headed to sunny Florida” or “wild Alaska!” He’d send us postcards and bring presents like he’d been off on vacation. And maybe to him, he was. I later heard stories about the pranks he pulled on his crew on long, international flights or the friends he’d met in a Spanish winery. He never met a stranger. Everyone was a friend, unless, of course, you’re a Cubs fan. A malignant brain tumor took him home when I was 21 and my brother was 11, and we learned the hard way the lesson Dad had always been trying to teach us. Life is short. Don’t waste a second.

As a first-born, “Type A” personality, I’ve struggled with that remember-to-enjoy-life mindset. I’m more of a work first, play later sort of gal. And so, when I’m looking out the window of my airplane or nail my spot on a short-field landing, I often surprise myself with how much fun I’m having. It wasn’t my intention, but in airplanes, fun sneaks up on you anyway. My little brother, Chas, is my polar opposite. It’s probably why we get along so well. He has so much of Dad’s fun-loving spirit in him. When Chas was in his early twenties and still hadn’t settled on a career, I invited him to Oshkosh with me for AirVenture 2018. I was there working on an article and wanted to bring a friend. We camped under the wing of my Cessna 172. He thoroughly enjoyed the aviation circus and also getting to know all our tent neighbors, inviting them over for an early morning coffee or late-night beer.

Dad left us with a life-is-short mentality. If you’re going to do something, find a way to enjoy it.I was thrilled when he started taking flying lessons shortly after, earning his ratings quickly, before working as a flight instructor at an airport outside of Nashville, Tennessee. In typical Chas style, he had a blast with it. He’d call to tell me he had been out time-building with a buddy and decided to stop on a whim in some city. They’d probably stay the night, he said. Who knew when he’d pass that way again? Later, when he got a job at a regional airline, he frequently took quick turns through our hometown of Memphis, Tennessee. I still live and work in the area, and on one such trip of his, I heard his “Hey Nat!” on the radio in the middle of my flight. It was just a half second blip, not intended to jam a frequency, but it was enough to make my day, getting to hear that voice on the radio. If only Dad could see us now, both working in an industry that he loved so much.

A couple of months ago, Chas was preparing for a job interview with Southwest Airlines, a company he thought he could make a career with if all the stars aligned. That sort of pressure would make anyone nervous, and he was no exception. “Relax,” I told him. “These interviewers are just trying to decide if you’re the type of pilot they’d like to spend three days with in a cockpit. You were made for this.” He called a couple of days later to tell me he’d gotten the job and had a favor to ask. “Would you be my guest at the company dinner the night before my training class starts? I wouldn’t have gotten into this if it weren’t for you.” I think he probably would have found his way to aviation even without me, because we both grew up in the same house, saw the same man head to the airport in that navy blue uniform, and wanted to have a piece of him back, even if that would only be found in learning to love the things he loved. And of course, if Dad had still been with us, Chas would have invited him to the dinner instead. So, for more reasons than one, I meant it when I responded, “I’d be honored to go with you.” Maybe I’ll even go down a day early, check out all that Dallas, Texas, has to offer. Life is short, you know.