My dad was in WWII and strafed twice (once by the Allies and once by the Axis), before being injured by a "buzz bomb." On the last day of the war he saw his first jet, an Me-262. We used to go to a lot of air shows, but pilots seemed very exotic. Karen and I have been to Alaska three times and we have always taken flight seeing tours in single engine GA planes. One time, while staying in an Alaskan bush pilot community (Talkeetna), we took a particularly amazing flight through the Alaskan Range to see Mt. Mckinley. The pilot who took us on this amazing journey was very young, and just an average sort of fellow. I though, "If this guy can do it...I bet I could too!" One day, several years later, a fever came over me for no particular reason. I started looking into whether it was worth it to fly, but it didn't seem like a rational decision. I had figured out how much it actually costs, and that I wouldn't be getting there much faster in the types of planes I would probably be flying (i.e. Cessna 172). Still, I couldn't shake the disease. Then, one day, even as I was weighing all these matters, I was called into a friend's office to meet a space shuttle astronaut, Commander Herrington (this was before I became a teacher). He spent a great deal of his time, telling me what it was like to be in the shuttle, what re-entry was like, and about being the first Native American astronaut. I shyly told him I was thinking about taking flying lessons. A profound change came over his demeanor. With a wistful look he told me how much he loved flying his small plane in Oklahoma. He signed a picture wishing me luck with my lessons. It was the "sign" I had been looking for. The next day I called a local flight school. When an astronaut taps you to fly, you pick up the baton and run.
In an odd twist of fate, Karen was urged to start flying lessons by Wally Funk, who could have been the first woman in space, except for an unfortunate turn of history, but that's another story...