A shocking scare

Last Saturday’s daily paper had a feature story which reminded me of one of the scariest moments I can remember while raising kids. There are always scary times in that part of a person’s life; some situations do not involve serious sickness or injury, but still make your hair stand on end.

First wife Iris and I have been lucky and blessed with the four baby people who came to stay with us. They all turned out with a sense of humor, and have played the best game of life possible with the cards they were dealt...good and bad. Like most parents, we both had good examples set by our own dads and mothers.

The story in that paper told of a local high school girl who has always been interested in flying. She’s had experiences as a passenger in aircraft and now has sights on a career that may involve the Air Force academy and being a pilot to soar the skies.

Now back to my scare story from the late 1970s. Was relaxed in my favorite chair watching an exciting Sunday pro football game, and oldest daughter Heidi jerked my pant leg several times, saying she needed to talk.

“Yes,” I said. “What is it, honey?”

“Dad, what does it feel like to fly an airplane?”

“Well, it’s sort of hard to explain. It’s something you have to do yourself to fully understand the mystery and the thrill.”

I wanted to watch the game but knew Heidi’s thoughts were serious and deserving of my attention. An answer came at a perfect time.

“Heidi, I just remembered. Strand Aviation has a special event today where you can pay $20 for a half-hour flight with an instructor. Here is $20 for you to go do it.”

An hour later, Heidi was back.

“Dad! Dad! I want to do it again. The instructor, Rod Bitney, said I’m a natural-born pilot.”

The next $20 was only a drop in the bucket. I was busy with my growing weekly newspaper, a land company, helping Flathead Valley Community College, and three other offspring. Time flew by as Heidi developed her “natural born” flying talents.

It happened during our daily family conversation at the dinner table, maybe six months after the flight schooling began. When it was her turn to report on activities, Heidi proudly announced, “I only have to complete two more cross-country flights and I’ll get my private license. That means I can start flying the cheerleaders to games in Billings, Great Falls, and all over.”

There were four or five seconds of stunned silence around the Ostrom family table. The father may have choked on his iced tea. He was in deep shock.

There was a father-daughter talk that evening. I explained to Heidi that I was proud of her accomplishment, but there was a lot more to mountain flying in Montana than nonchalantly going from point A to point B. In my concern, I may have overemphasized some of the more common hazards, and mentioned that at least six of the best pilots I ever flew with had been killed in accidents due to circumstances beyond their control.

It ended with our agreeing that Heidi would stop flying until she could afford to continue training as an adult out of school. I did feel good about her accepting those conditions without any visible sadness, and I have since wondered how serious she was about flying the cheerleaders to Billings.

She may have been truly surprised about how badly she scared her poor old daddy that evening at dinner, 39 years ago.

G. George Ostrom is an award-winning columnist. He lives in Kalispell.