When I read, “…traditionalists which are aged 73-92…” in my Wall Street Journal, I took umbrage. At age 93, not only am I a ‘traditionalist,’ but I lay claim to starting the ‘tradition’ of flying the family to the holiday reunion.
These end-of-year 2021 holidays will be remembered for the airline workers who called in sick, few stewardesses to help passengers get a Rudolph red-nose on, and few pilots to get airborne and switch controls to automatic.
Nor will those flying home to family forget how they tarried, tarried, tarried in the terminals. They learned what we sometimes weather-bound private pilots know well—if you’ve got time to spare, go by air.
Before frequent flyer miles, before families decided to skip driving—some cross country trips that would take days—we Elams started the tradition of flying to the family get-to-gather.
Rolled the Cessna 182, single motor, high-wing four-person airplane out of the hangar. Three small daughters strapped themselves into two back seats.
Co-pilot Mom stuck a nipple attached to a milk bottle into the mouth of the baby boy born on Armistice, the month before. Cleared for take-off with the
West Texas Abilene control tower. Thirty minutes later we landed in Central Texas Brady.
Not only did we save a three-hour drive, but in the 1950s this 93-year-old initiated flying to the family holiday. Who at the Journal wants to acknowledge the beginning of the “tradition”?
Photo by Trac Vu at Pexels
