Flying Life: Flying lessons from an 8-year-old

My Cessna 172, Lola, was in the paint shop for several weeks and it just so happened she was ready to come home at the same time my 8-year-old daughter, Ellie, was out for fall school break. Ellie had ridden in the back seat of the airplane several times as a passenger, but never in the front as my co-pilot. So, I bought a brand-new logbook and brought my daughter along on what I hoped was the first of many flights together. Knowing that kids generally require two things—food and entertainment—I packed granola bars and books, and an iPad for good measure.

When we arrived in Mena, Arkansas (the airport is famously home to Barry Seal, the TWA pilot who in the 1970s turned drug smuggler and ended up dead), it turned out we would have to wait for a few hours while the paint shop made some last-minute touch-ups. They offered me a crew car so we could get something to eat while we waited. My first inclination was to decline in favor of the granola bars I had packed. Plus, if the airplane got ready sooner than expected, we could head home. But Ellie had another idea. “Mom, ice cream?” Her eyes sparkled, and I knew we’d be taking that crew car. Lesson number one from my 8-year-old teacher: If you ever get the chance for an impromptu ice cream date, choose that over granola bars any day. So what if it means your trip may be a little bit longer?

After we got back from our trip to town, the airplane still wasn’t ready, so we found ourselves waiting on the ramp of a sleepy airport. Airplane ramps are generally not my chosen spot to spend time because they provide no shade in the summer; in the winter, there are no buildings or trees to stop the wind from cutting right through to the bone. But Ellie saw all that wide open space and requested that I get out my stopwatch. “Mom, time me! I’m going to run from here alllllllll the way to there.” Her moving hand marked a distance of maybe 30 yards of empty blacktop, just begging for an energetic child to test her speed. Lesson number two: Don’t let a little thing like the weather keep you from an opportunity for fun. On my last day, I will not remember the momentary discomfort of being a little hot or cold, but I will never forget the sight of my daughter sprinting across the ramp with the wind in her hair.

When we finally launched from Mena with our newly painted airplane, Ellie remained quiet, as instructed, for the climbout. As quiet is not my daughter’s normal state, I had made sure to pre-brief on the importance of a sterile cockpit. When I dialed up 123.45 MHz to speak to our friend in the chaser airplane, Ellie couldn’t resist the chance to hear her own voice on the radio. “Hey, Nathan!” She called out to our friend in his Beechcraft Bonanza as he zipped past us, saying something about having to slow to stall speed just to get a picture of our slow-moving 172. I let his comment slide, however, because Ellie had moved on to a new game.

“Little Rock Approach,” she said in her most serious voice, thankfully without pressing the push-to-talk switch, “we’re going to have to change direction and go check out a possible fire situation I can see. Firewoman Ellie Hoover reporting for duty!” I allowed the heading change for a moment, about 30 degrees to the right of the nose, where a pillar of smoke rose above the horizon. It’s not an uncommon sight in the Southeast where farmers burn fallow fields between seasons. Sure enough, I found myself smiling and playing along as we firewomen discussed how best to assist the burning village below. Lesson number three: When you’re traveling from A to B, making time for a diversion means you get to be fully present.

It turns out we didn’t end up needing those granola bars or the iPad. With Ellie’s help, we made our own fun. The trip to Mena turned out to be a much grander adventure than I had planned. When Ellie goes back to school next week, she will have a new story to tell her friends about her airplane ride with mom. And I’ll have a new perspective to carry with me the next time a cold wind cuts through my jacket on the ramp or I see a smoke plume on the horizon.

Web: myaviation101.com