Jack is interested in all kinds of things. He loves volcanoes, space, planting things in his garden, and airplanes. He flings himself full-force into his passions du jour, and wants to know everything there is to know about them.
Now Jack has decided he doesn’t just love airplanes, he wants to fly them. “I want to earn a badge for flying an airplane when I grow up,” he told me recently. “Badges are my favorite. They don’t give you badges for flying rocket ships.”
This I did not know.
So, we chat about what kind of planes he wants to fly and where he wants to go. He has it all figured out. “I want to fly people to another airport through the clouds.”
So, an airline pilot? Sounds good. I start to explain about flight school, and how he’ll need to go there when he’s older. He stopped me mid sentence: “I just need to figure out which button to push to make the airplane fly.”
That’s when it dawns on me, this is just like swimming.
Jack can’t swim. At least, he’s never had formal lessons (he will, I promise). The last time we were at the pool, though, Jack didn’t want our help with anything. You see, Jack believes he has taught himself how to swim.
This is most inconvenient when faced with an open body of water. And, you know, the fact that Jack can not, in fact, swim.
The swimmer touches the ocean for the first time.
He would not accept the notion that he didn’t know how to swim. He explained to us that he simply needed to move his arms like so, and his legs like so, and although he didn’t actually want to put his face in the water like the other people, that would be fine. See, he’s swimming! (Cue the child almost sinking to the bottom of the pool.)
Jack has now applied his theory of self-education to flight, and is equally stubborn about its certain success.
Jack's flight school. Don't worry, he's got this.
I would recommend you check the credentials of your flight crew the next time you embark on air travel. Just in case.
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