Sad, Sad, Sad

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There is a moment when the plane takes off when I think...

...what if we go down?

I usually say something to the Good Lord above...maybe an Our Father...maybe a 'keep an eye out, huh?'

But something.

And then I'm done with it.

If there is a crash there's not a damn thing I'm gonna' do about it.

I probably won't even feel anything, right?

One minute you're sitting there...the next they're trying to piece you back together.

Sometimes, before I leave, I play into my beautiful wife's paranoia and try to coax some sympathy saying:

"You may never see me again."

She don't listen anymore.

The thing about it is that you're way more likely to be killed in a car accident, right?

Planes just don't go down very often (Harrison Ford flights excluded) but when they do...

...it's really sad.

We had a horrific plane crash back here in Buffalo a while back. The cause was traced to pilot incompetence.

It was weird.

From the time of my first flight...back to Florida...in 1974...I marveled at the life of the pilot.

The uniform.

All those instruments.

Wondering about the pilots being so smart.

Flying through the air was hard to comprehend for a 9-year-old.

Pilots were thought to be brilliant.

What other explanation could there be?

That pilot on that flight to Florida all those years ago allowed me and my brother John to peek in at the cockpit.

It was amazing to us.

This past week there was another horrific crash.

There are thoughts that the pilot was on a suicide mission.

All those lives...and he flew straight into a mountain.

Turns out...I'm still confused.

I still can't comprehend how.

But as you grow older...the innocence slips away.

A messed up man at the controls...

...a 9-year old never considered that.

...a 50-year old man can't comprehend it either.

So sad.

So horribly sad.

Just sad.

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