Character Analysis - The Last Of The Hangar Kids

"There was a Stearman here earlier." I had walked out the door and onto the ramp just in time to hear Matt say this to two other pilots within the program that had stopped for fuel during their cross-country venture for the day.
"A what?"
"A Stearman," Matt repeated.
"What's a Stearman?" My ears perked, and I devoted full attention to the conversation. The thought of a pilot, much less two, being unfamiliar with a Stearman had completely blown my mind. What planet are these people from?
"It's an old military biplane," Matt responded. "What about a T-6, have you ever seen one in person?"
"What's a T-6?"
Oh for God's sake. "Ok, let's start with something simpler," I interjected. "Are you able to recognize shapes and colors?" My sarcastic jab was met with predictably blank stares. There might as well have been have been electronic signs on their foreheads, each one flashing the phrase "DOES NOT COMPUTE." What didn't compute, to me, was a pilot being unable to visually identify to staples of classic aviation history, not to mention lore. In the aviation community, such an offense is roughly tantamount to the failure to recogize the sky's color to be blue. It was almost apalling. We stood in silence for a moment while they attempted to mentally calculate what exactly a shape and color were, and whether or not they could readily identify subcategories of each with reasonable accuracy. In attempt to prevent mental overload and subsequent vapor lock, I decided to put a stop to it.
"Nevermind."

Somewhere down the line, there is a major hitch in the get-along. These two pilots are not the first two I have seen that are lacking major components of their aviation cultural knowledge, and I assert that these ignorances are a direct result of the fact that many don't seem to actually enjoy flying. They spew flawless procedural knowledge from memory, and perform preflight inspections that would put most A&Ps to shame, but when it comes time to actually get in the airplane I have noticed that many don't appreciate the magic of it. And make no mistake, it is magic for me, no less now than it was 15 years ago. I may not be able to shoot an SDF approach exactly right the first time, nor can I quote the FAR/AIM chapter and verse (That's why there's an index in the back of that thing). And frankly, I don't think that's extremely critical. As I've told many people with regard to medicine and emergency services; if you have the heart for it, then you're fine. Skills and knowledge can be developed. Passion is either preexisting, or absent. Period. You cannot teach someone how to love. It has to be within them. And once its presence is identified, the trick is to merely elicit that portion of their soul and channel it into positive results. This is true of any field. Aviation is no different. Passion is the key. For me, and many others, that passion has always existed. While other 6th graders drew monster trucks in art class, I drew FedEx DC-10s. Some kids wore the t-shirts of their favorite baseball teams; I chose the Blue Angels. While the rest of the teenagers I knew played Grand Theft Auto and other intellectually stimulating video games, I flew Microsoft Flight Simulator in a simulated ATC environment for hundreds and thousands of hours (Yes I'm a nerd, shut up). Most 16 year olds go to the movies or on car dates, while this one drove an hour and a half to flight school. I learned to drink (and eventually love) black coffee. I hung around the airport, and could sit for endless hours watching airplanes takeoff and land (I'm amazed at the pilots around here whom have either never witnessed the nightly FedEx push at Memphis, or don't even know what it is). At any rate, I was, and still am, a hangar kid. Flying is just something I've always wanted to do, and I am truly amazed how few people say that. For a time, I thought that it was just the inherent, almost instinctive desire of every pilot to fly. Almost like sea turtles. The minute you're born, the fire is lit.
For all these reasons, most pilots within my age bracket, and of commensurate experience, think that I'm insane. Now mind you that these are the same people that sleep with a FAR/AIM under their pillows and have Low En Route Charts tacked up on the walls in their room like decoration, but I'm certifiable for pursuing the spirit of aviation more than the logistics. Right. Where have all the hangar kids gone? Who knows. But apparently very few hangar kids actually grow up to become pilots. From the best evidence that I can collect, it seems that most of the people in my demographic literally woke up one day within the last 10-12 months and decided to become a pilot. Seriously.

Make no mistake, the purpose of this analysis is not to belittle those that do not share my obsession. In fact, I feel rather sorry for them. As hard a time as I sometimes have with all of this, I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Some of the things that I am fortunate enough to be able to do evoke feelings within me that I cannot describe. This little adventure has been one mess after another, but the opportunity to pursue a fantasy that I have held for nearly 23 years makes it all worth while. I put up with all this crap because it's pragmatic to do so. The juice is worth the squeeze, so to speak. How they persevere and put up with the nonsense without displaying any appreciable enjoyment is beyond me. Is it the perceived glamour of being able to say, "I'm a pilot?" The mythical six figure salary? I honestly don't understand. But investing the time, effort, blood, sweat, and tears, without being able to extract that child-like excitement and fulfillment from the backside is what seems crazy to me.
Truly, I am the luckier of the two personalities discussed here tonight. I can retake a checkride. I can study more. I can even flip to the index in my trusty FAR/AIM. But they can't carry spare passion in their flight bag. They can't try again to love this, and they can't get someone to implant the desire within them through extra ground school. But to each his own, I suppose. And even though my road sometimes seems a little rockier, it sure is more fun.


I'll stick with it.

Joey