Connor in a T-28 at Oshkosh

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It’s amazing, how much knowledge we take for granted after we’ve been flying for a long time. Terms and concepts that once sounded complicated and strange become a regular parts of our vocabulary, accepted pieces of general knowledge, almost invisible to us as something that ever had to be learned, like walking or tying a shoelace. Often, we don’t even think about it … until, that is, someone from the “outside” asks a question we, ourselves, might have asked, once upon a time, and we remember that the world wasn’t always the way we know it now. It’s a kind of refreshing perspective jolt that dusts a little of the jaded rust off, and reminds us of the road we’ve traveled to get here.

I’ve been going through a kind of fun perspective jolt lately, because my boyfriend’s 17-year-old son, Connor, has decided he’s interested in learning how to fly. For starters, Ed brought Connor to Oshkosh last summer, which was not only fun for Connor, but––surprisingly––transformed the experience for me, as well.

I’ve been going to Oshkosh, and working at the show, for so many years now that it’s a well known experience, notable more often for the weather and exhaustion than the huge and shiny array of airplanes. But Connor saw it quite differently. In that subtle, controlled manner that cool teenagers refine to such an amazingly high art form, it was clear he was jazzed, awed, and excited at every new piece of it he experienced. And seeing it through his eyes, I saw it differently again, myself; remembered how it had felt and looked the very first time I set eyes on 12,000 airplanes, all in the same place.

For Connor’s birthday, I got him a copy of Microsoft’s Flight Simulator (which, alas, is no longer being produced). His dad bought him a good-quality joystick to go with it. And for Christmas, I got Connor some basic private pilot ground school course material.

Knowing that Connor is a 21st century teenager who’s a skilled, lethal killer in video games like Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2, I prefaced the Flight Simulator present with the admonition that it wasn’t a video game. It was a training tool. Not as exciting as Call of Duty, but far more useful in the real world. (I hope.) With the ground school materials, I just sighed and said, “I know that this is not particularly exciting stuff. But if you want to be a pilot, you have to learn it. And it’s a good place to start.”

I told him to feel free to ask me whatever questions he might have. And the questions that arise are fascinating windows to how odd this flying thing is, for someone who doesn’t do it yet.

Right off the bat, he agreed with me that the ground school material was pretty dry. But clearly he’d been reading it, because he asked, “do you really have to check the fuel EVERY time you go flying?” I’d have to check the textbook to see what it says about fuel straining and inspection, but I gave Connor the reasons why you do, and some vivid life examples of what’s befallen people I’ve known who didn’t check their fuel, especially on the first flight of the day. I think the point registered.

He also asked about this “yaw” thing. “It’s really weird, in the flight simulator," he said. "It goes back and forth all over the place. Same thing with trim.”

In that case, I assured him that those were quirks of the simulator, which doesn’t accurately reflect forces in a real airplane. But then I tried to explain to him what the feel of rudder pedals is really like. Without having rudder pedals there in the car for him to try. (He lives on the east coast, and my airplane’s on the west coast. So right now, this is all theoretical knowledge for him.) I just “know” how rudder pedals work. But I had to really think about how to explain that to someone without any experience with them. I ended up using the example of a flexi-flyer sled to explain the linked mechanism in rudder pedals, where the pressure from both your feet helps make it possible to make small or large corrections without over-controlling.

I’m sure there will be more to come. But it’s kind of fun to get to relive, through another person’s eyes, the exploration of the world