C'mon people! You know you have those family legends just dying to get out! Go on over to Rachel & Mr. Daddy's Once Upon A Miracle for more unbelievably true stories.
I know - I have a whole backload of promised TST posts for y'all (that's my OK roots shinin' through). Like the one with the homeless guy I talked about last week. Or when I made a comment on Rachel's Letter of Intent about how cool the Blue Angels are, and how I got to hang out with the pilots a couple of times in the planes. I had no idea the email firestorm that comment would create! I promise, Rachel, I will tell that story. And I found the photos of me in front of the plane. But the photo of me in the plane is somewhere in the depths of my mom's photo albums. I will find it and post all about it, I promise. I plan on going to her house, maybe, this weekend to look for it. If you don't hear from me by next Tuesday, please call someone. There are a lot of albums to look through.
Anyways, Rachel's story made me remember a great one about my dad. Daddy is a Vietnam vet, although he very rarely talks about it. He drove a tank and was a sniper, amongst other duties. I always knew he had fought, but the memories/nightmares were still too raw for him when I was little, so I didn't ever hear the stories.
Our little tiny airport was lucky enough to host an air show for a few years. It was really, really cool. Especially for the airplane-junkie child I was. Dad took me every year, and made sure we were there early so I could talk to the pilots and get close to the planes.
One year, they had a huge gathering of WWII-era aircraft. German, Japanese, American, and European aircraft were all on display. Then, the pilots of these awesome aircraft took to the skies for a demonstration of WWII air battle tactics and capabilities.
We were in awe, watching these ancient (in my mind) aircraft performing stunning displays. One American bomber lined up to make a low pass over the runway & concourse area, to demonstrate how the bombing runs were done. We watched him circle far above and south of the airport, line himself up, then drop in a beeline towards the ground. We knew (from being there way in advance & talking to the pilot) that the guns were functional, and loaded with blanks for the display. Dad and I watched the plane drop closer to us and the earth, eagerly anticipating the rat-a-tat-tat of the guns.
And then the runway exploded.
We had no idea they had rigged a pyrotechnics display to coordinate with the bombing run, so that when the guns blasted, a corresponding explosion would occur on the ground. I jumped about a mile high, then quickly looked over at my dad for reassurance.
He was face-first, belly flat on the ground.
At the first explosion, all those years of war training kicked in, and his instincts told him to "Hit the deck!" So he did.
Surrounded by hundreds of spectators.
At first Mom and I thought he had hurt himself, so we quickly got down to see if we could help. The only thing hurt on that man was his pride.
As he rose to his feet, he wiped himself off with a laugh. We still like to tease him about his instincts.
