With a pilot dad, my kids started flying in prop planes as infants, grabbing the yoke as toddlers. Our oldest kids learned “stick and rudder” as teens.
I don’t believe in T-ball, churches, parades, “child wellness” visits, or slapping an iPad in front of my kids. I believe in crazy-ass life experience and treating kids like human beings—not animals to be pacified by a screen, sugar, or pills.
Sometimes that means enduring a flight over the Rockies in our Cessna 206—then Lake Powell, over the Grand Canyon, and finally into the thirsty, dry air of Phoenix, Arizona, on the hottest day of June with turbulence that’ll make you hate flying in small planes, for life.
That was yesterday.
We climbed out of southern Colorado and aimed directly south. Our ship was quickly re-routed as the cumulous clouds engulfed us from below—billowing faster than what was forecasted.
Alluvial fans swept off the mountain base as the landscape turned into the red desert of Moab, Utah. Signs of glaciers were marked by sharp ridges and carvings that seemingly pointed us south, where John Wesley Powell (an American geologist, U.S. Army soldier, and explorer of the American West) first floated the Colorado River with one arm, in a wooden boat, with no life jacket on him.
It’s crazy how a little bit of history highlights what a bunch of pussies most people are today…
We touched down in Page, AZ, for some low lead fuel and a 5-minute break on the cool leather couches of the pilot lounge.
I’d rather learn to fly than be treated like a stray dog at an airport. I don’t do security checks, lines, baggage claim, or small talk. I’m more into the intake, combustion, pressure, and exhaust of a horizontally-opposed aircraft engine that turns a 74-inch blade that ever so slightly releases you from the claws of gravity.
I also prefer dry, vapid summer air and the propeller’s roar as its kick starts to carry us further south, this time over the Grand Canyon, Flagstaff… then Phoenix.
On takeoff, our rollout was longer, thanks to the stale summer heat. Like a boxer with only one foot in the ring, we took our first hit of turbulence seconds after lifting off.
“Damn, I wish Blair was with me,” I thought.
Aubrey and Skyler find it impossible to be nervous with Big Brother nearby. So do I. Blair’s the type of guy to find an answer to everything.
Blair's just a few weeks out from a 4-year stint in flight school. He was more bent on having his best summer ever by taking a road trip with some friends…and doing all the shit that parents today act like they’ve never f@#ckin’ done or wished they had.
Isn’t that the problem today?
The Boomers were so miserable to their own kids, that those kids ended up over-parenting… to the degree that THEIR kids got medicated-to-hell with vaccines and pills. Then, their kids got the triple vaxxed, triple blue-pilled, and put in debt three times more than any other generation. Today, they acted like sitting in front of a fuckin’ screen was totally normal as a teen rather than drinking beers, chasing pussy, and pulling an all-nighter with the homies…
Parenting is a bitch. I get it.
I’m probably doing it all wrong too.
My philosophy is: force them to climb trees, break their arms, then get them back in the tree to break the other one. For 18 years we do only two things: grappling and reading. This teaches two things that are scarce in the modern world: discipline and critical thinking. It’s so consistent and tireless that onlookers think I’m callous in my disregard.
They’re right.
I don’t let my kids make decisions until their pain threshold is high enough for them to learn how to put purpose over pleasure.
Fortunately, mom is strong enough to agree most of the time and correct us all as we move forward...
I’m hoping that a high pain threshold helps them go all the way in life…to start something and never quit. To get knocked down so hard, yet still get up with the resolve of knowing that staying down is to die twice—once when you give up on yourself, and next when your heart stops.
My youngest daughter sat behind me. Not able to see her, I keyed the mic. “Aubrey! Are you ok!?”
We were at 12,500 feet with oxygen stuffed into our noses. I popped open the windows. Cool air rushed into the cabin; so did smoke from a nearby fire. It was the turbulence, though, not the smoke or low visibility that concerned me. I was certain Aubrey would need a barf bag or some comforting.
“I’m good Papa…I think I’d make a great pilot because I’m not sick.”
“Are you sure, baby?”
“No…cause I think being in charge of the controls up here would be too scary for me. But I’m still okay.”
This was unfamiliar terrain for Aubrey. This is what I want for my kids—to embrace the unfamiliar as much as possible and learn to thrive in it. I don’t want her choosing the familiar, comfortable paths her peers chose that led them to be addicted to technology, food, and being conditioned to accept that school is learning, that church is spiritual, and that prescription drugs are healthy.
Today, up in the vapid Arizona desert air, hopefully Aubrey learns that she can be a pilot if she wants to, or not. Either way, she knows more about herself than how to text on an iPhone.
Knowing yourself is the impetus for taking care of yourself. And there's no better way to do that than by ditching the meds, quitting sugar and working out.
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