EdFred
Taxi to Parking
There are certain days in our lives that start out benign; a day like any other day. I got up, I went about my business like any other Tuesday after the holiday weekend. It would be one of those days where it's just going to be another day at the office, a night at the ball field, a bite to eat after the game, and then retire to bed. That was until I got a text message from Clint's mom at lunch.
It started about a week earlier when I got a phone call from someone I'd never met. Oh, I had talked to her for a few years via text message, online chat services, and the occasional phone call, but we'd never met face to face. It was a simple enough question: "Do you know anyone that gives balloon rides?" I happened to work next to someone previously that did and passed the information along. A couple hours later I got a call back asking if I could provide an airplane ride instead.
Clint was unassuming, and if you walked past him and his mother on the street, or in the mall, or any other public place, you wouldn't think twice about whom you just walked by. I wouldn't have either. He was quiet, polite, and looked and acted like a normal eleven or twelve year old. He had the all excitement of preteen with his whole world ahead of him. But Clint was twenty nine, and had been born with cerebral palsy, and the phone call the week prior asking me to provide a plane ride for Clint, was because he had only been given two weeks to live. That phone call was from a nurse in the oncology department at St. Mary’s hospital, and he was losing his battle with cancer. After hearing Clint’s story there is no way I could say no.
The flight almost didn’t happen. I got a call from his mother the night before saying that he was having one of his bad days, and that tomorrow wasn’t looking good. He loved baseball, and he lacked the strength to even sit through the last home game of the season for his beloved Whitecaps at 5/3rd ballpark. He got to see the game, but he had to lay on his parent’s laps to watch it. I let them know that I would be able to be “on call” any day during the week if he felt better. That day happened to be today. I borrowed my friend Ryan’s plane (a better plane than mine for this sort of flight) and met his mother, a cousin, an aunt, and of course Clint. He had a beaming smile on his face under his Detroit Tigers hat. We shook hands and introduced ourselves.
His family took pictures of him and I with the plane, and then his mother and he climbed aboard, and Clint and I talked baseball while we buckled in. I explained the controls to them, and what they did, and that we would fly over their house, 5/3rd Park, downtown Grand Rapids, and that I’d even let him take the controls once we did the take off, but I would have to take them back when we got ready to land. We buckled in, started the plane and took off from Sparta’s airport with the wind blowing right down the runway. There were a few minor bumps on the flight there, but for our flight they were absent. Were it not for my passenger I probably wouldn’t even remember this flight, and on our way back to the airport I remembered I forgot to let Clint have the controls like I promised.
Well, there’s an easy way to solve that. We scooted Clint’s seat up, and I pointed out where the airport was and gave Clint instructions on getting us there. He handled the controls like any other student I’ve flown with, and he guided us right to the airport. Clint handled the controls in the traffic pattern and guided us right down final approach to runway 7. I asked if he saw the 7, and when he said yes, I said just keep us pointed straight at it – and he did. I managed the throttle and rudder, but he kept us lined up with the runway. We settled over the runway and I told him to pull gently back on the yoke; and with very little help from me, he landed it right on the centerline. Once we touched downd I said, "Congradulations Clint, you just landed your first airplane." When we got out of the plane, I saw the biggest smile I’d ever seen in my life.
I don’t remember the tail number of the plane I soloed in, my first date, my first day of kindergarten, or high school, or even college. I probably won't remember what I wore to work today, or that I hit three home runs tonight, or that I even had a doctor's appointment on September 6th. But I will always remember Clint – and his smile.
It started about a week earlier when I got a phone call from someone I'd never met. Oh, I had talked to her for a few years via text message, online chat services, and the occasional phone call, but we'd never met face to face. It was a simple enough question: "Do you know anyone that gives balloon rides?" I happened to work next to someone previously that did and passed the information along. A couple hours later I got a call back asking if I could provide an airplane ride instead.
Clint was unassuming, and if you walked past him and his mother on the street, or in the mall, or any other public place, you wouldn't think twice about whom you just walked by. I wouldn't have either. He was quiet, polite, and looked and acted like a normal eleven or twelve year old. He had the all excitement of preteen with his whole world ahead of him. But Clint was twenty nine, and had been born with cerebral palsy, and the phone call the week prior asking me to provide a plane ride for Clint, was because he had only been given two weeks to live. That phone call was from a nurse in the oncology department at St. Mary’s hospital, and he was losing his battle with cancer. After hearing Clint’s story there is no way I could say no.
The flight almost didn’t happen. I got a call from his mother the night before saying that he was having one of his bad days, and that tomorrow wasn’t looking good. He loved baseball, and he lacked the strength to even sit through the last home game of the season for his beloved Whitecaps at 5/3rd ballpark. He got to see the game, but he had to lay on his parent’s laps to watch it. I let them know that I would be able to be “on call” any day during the week if he felt better. That day happened to be today. I borrowed my friend Ryan’s plane (a better plane than mine for this sort of flight) and met his mother, a cousin, an aunt, and of course Clint. He had a beaming smile on his face under his Detroit Tigers hat. We shook hands and introduced ourselves.
His family took pictures of him and I with the plane, and then his mother and he climbed aboard, and Clint and I talked baseball while we buckled in. I explained the controls to them, and what they did, and that we would fly over their house, 5/3rd Park, downtown Grand Rapids, and that I’d even let him take the controls once we did the take off, but I would have to take them back when we got ready to land. We buckled in, started the plane and took off from Sparta’s airport with the wind blowing right down the runway. There were a few minor bumps on the flight there, but for our flight they were absent. Were it not for my passenger I probably wouldn’t even remember this flight, and on our way back to the airport I remembered I forgot to let Clint have the controls like I promised.
Well, there’s an easy way to solve that. We scooted Clint’s seat up, and I pointed out where the airport was and gave Clint instructions on getting us there. He handled the controls like any other student I’ve flown with, and he guided us right to the airport. Clint handled the controls in the traffic pattern and guided us right down final approach to runway 7. I asked if he saw the 7, and when he said yes, I said just keep us pointed straight at it – and he did. I managed the throttle and rudder, but he kept us lined up with the runway. We settled over the runway and I told him to pull gently back on the yoke; and with very little help from me, he landed it right on the centerline. Once we touched downd I said, "Congradulations Clint, you just landed your first airplane." When we got out of the plane, I saw the biggest smile I’d ever seen in my life.
I don’t remember the tail number of the plane I soloed in, my first date, my first day of kindergarten, or high school, or even college. I probably won't remember what I wore to work today, or that I hit three home runs tonight, or that I even had a doctor's appointment on September 6th. But I will always remember Clint – and his smile.
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