Up until about the 4th or 5th grade, I was absolutely convinced that I was going to be a fighter pilot when I grew up. I read all I could about F-15 Eagles and F-16 Falcons, watched documentaries on air combat, and would sit in the living room recliner, imagining myself taking on any number of Russian bogies (this was at the height of the Cold War, after all).
Whether they knew it or not, my parents did little to dissuade my piloting fantasies. For starters, my dad pulled me out of class one day to go see Top Gun—which still ranks as one of the greatest moments of my pre-adolescence. But even more importantly, they took my brother and I to the yearly open house on Offutt Air Force Base.
However, I haven’t been to an airshow since before junior high. But I suppose there are some things you just don’t fully grow out of. In my case, it’s a fascination with all things related to military aircraft, and so it seemed only natural that Renae and I attend this year’s Lincoln Air Show.
I will admit that I was a bit worried that going to an airshow at the age of 30 would feel a little silly once we got there. But I needn’t have worried. As soon as that F-117 Nighthawk came flying in low overhead, I turned back into a giggling twelve-year-old boy. Indeed, I could barely keep my eyes on the road, but kept craning my neck to get a good look at the jet as it passed by a hundred feet or so overhead. (It’s probably a miracle that I didn’t cause any fender-benders.)
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