I visited my first airshow at eight years old,church fenton.Replenished with
warm pop and chicken sandwiches,dads passion started to wear off,years later many air shows from all over the country under our belts,we sat at the crash gate at binbrook drinking warm pop and laughing.That was the last time i saw him laugh and the last time we realy talked.Dad died the next day,i dident fall out of love with my passion it just became too painful.I still looked up at whatever was screaming past instead of wishing i was there, i found my self wishing for the past.
Now thirteen years later i make tentative forays back into my passion ,out of touch not to say the least, but the pain has gone.When on the airfields the old ghost’s are still there but with one other.I now have two sons of my own so the cycle starts again.
Sign In
