I Believe I Can Fly

My dad flies airplanes.

Real ones.

Up in the sky.

And he uses terms like,

 "Niner niner waiting for tower.  Requesting clearance for take off.  Acknowledge."

He's hard core.

Sometimes he lets me tag along.

And sometimes my arms look freakishly long in pictures.  Attractive.

To be truthful, I'm perfectly happy with both feet planted firmly on the ground.

Flying brings out the worst in my already over-active imagination.

Especially when Mr. Pilotman tells me to take the wheel and then refuses to take it back. Rude.

 (See how I'm smiling?  It's cause we're on the ground.)

I do, however, like the view.

And the company.

Thanks, Dad.