The stick is finally in my hands. The headgear is on, microphone in place, I’m strapped in tight and have the go from mission control to begin my taxi. I seriously cannot believe I’m about to fly this sucker solo.

For a split second I flash back to what brought me to this moment. My father is a pilot and for as long as I can remember I’ve dreamt of wearing an olive green flight suit each day, just like him. As a toddler, I wore my itty bitty flight jacket everywhere and each time I looked up in the sky to find a flying object, whether it be a plastic bag that got away from Wal-Mart, a bird, or a legitimate jet, my innocent little voice shrieked “Airplane!” excitedly as I pointed at the airborne item. When I was four, I took my desire to fly to a whole knew level. I leapt off the trampoline as high as I could with my “wings” spread wide. However, my cardboard and faux feather get-up did not seem to keep me in the air very long. With a broken arm and black eye, I learned to restrict the flying to in-plane only pretty quickly. I had every airplane toy in the books, from plastic toys to stuffed planes to remote-control helipcopters to video games. It seems as though my heart has always belonged to the sky. Living on the Air Force base only fueled my passion for aviation, and my ears learned to love the sound of the T-6 taking off each morning as much as a classical music connoisseur loves Mozart.

After all those years of being the co-pilot, receiving instruction, and watching on the sidelines, in the hot seat I finally sit. All of the controls light up and blink, as if to say, “Congratulations, you’ve finally made it!” For a second, though, I am overwhelmed. People doubt my ability. I admit, I’m a little short and have to reach to control the rudder pedals, but that isn’t going to stop me. I am determined to be airborne and land safely. And besides, I’m ready for this. All those years of training and being the co-pilot have not been in vain. It’s time I spread my own wings and fly, take off on my first solo flight.

The taxi goes smoothly and as I await the “ok” to begin takeoff, I take in everything set before me. Suddenly it all seems so real, and my palms begin to sweat. I’m looking at the picture of a perfect day. The sun is shining, the sky is clear. I’m hoping it will remain this way throughout the course of my flight. Thankfully, I don’t have to wonder any longer, as mission control tells me I am clear for takeoff.

The flaps are down, gears are down, throttle’s up, and I start building speed down the runway. At just the right moment, I pull back on the stick and I’ve done it. I’m in the air and I can hardly believe it. What, just moments ago, had been life-sized buildings quickly shrunk to ants. The base tower leaves my field of vision as I move farther and farther away from the runway, both in altitude and longitude. I take a second to make sure I’m still breathing, only to realize I had been holding my breath for the past 45 seconds. My heart is pounding with excitement, nerves, pride, and anticipation.

I reach my desired altitude of 8,000 feet and level off. Beneath me I see a lake, low with the Texas drought. The earth is brown with greenish-brown spots here and there. Everything seems so perfect, I feel as though I am living a dream. Below me I see a flock of birds and smile. Not many people can say they’ve been higher than the birds, but I sure can.

As I’m still enjoying my birds-eye view of the birds, a noise abruptly slaps me back in to reality. At the same moment that I begin to hear “whoop, whoop, whoop” I look down to find the chip light flashing. The red, blinking light screams louder than the noise I actually hear, and my heart is beating out of my chest. I quickly try to gather my thoughts and suddenly remember Dad telling me about a time that this happened to him. The chip light signals metal in the oil. In my panic, the only thing I can remember is that this is a bad thing. Thankfully I know that I still have an engine for the moment, though I do not know how long that will last. Getting back to the base is now crucial. My dream just became a nightmare.

I pull my left wing down and make a 180 degree turn, pointing my nose towards the runway that is not in sight. Luckily, I had not flown more than 30 miles from the base, so I should be able to see home within the next 5 minutes. I do my best to remain calm. I’m in a jet engine time bomb that may or may not go off before landing. I’m praying it doesn’t.

The longest 5 minutes of my life finally pass and the tower and runway are in sight. I have been descending since I turned around and I radio to the tower to declare a state of emergency, forcing them to give me priority landing. The flaps come down along with the landing gear. I line up and furrow my brow as I prepare to touch down. I balance and remain steady using the rudder pedals. I’m so concentrated that I forget that I’m having to stretch to reach them. Three, two, one, and I’m down. Safe. Alive. The whooping sound and angry red light are still very real, but I do not even notice them. Relief comes like a flood and I realize the part of my flight I had been the most nervous for, the landing, had gone so smoothly because of the distraction of crisis. I had landed by instinct without overthinking.

Just as quickly as it had begun, it is over. My first solo is under my belt, and a crazy flight it was. My life had flashed before my eyes with the first flash of the chip light. I refuse to let the fear and drama dampen my passion for planes, though. I will continue to fly and know now more than ever before that I am more than capable. I will keep reaching for the sky.

I taxi over near the hanger and let out a sigh. For a second I sit and replay everything that just took place. My thoughts are interrupted, though. I hear a knock behind me and turn around to see my father smiling the smile of a proud dad. He walks up and gives me a hug while saying, “You’re a natural, son. Proud of you! Can’t believe how grown you are, birthday boy.” My father then walks over and shakes the flight simulator instructor’s hand and thanks him as I unstrap and take off my headgear. I’m on cloud nine as I, too, thank the sim instructor for his time and expertise. He definitely threw me for a loop with the chip issue, but I’m so glad he did. The crisis makes my victory that much sweeter. My dad puts his arm around my shoulders and together we exit the big, black box. My first solo flight…what a great way to spend my 12th birthday.