I took flying lessons starting when I was 13. Did you know that? At a school/charter company/pilot services shack at the local field. Cessna 150/152s, a 170 or 172 once, a few Katanas there at the end. By the time I was ready to solo I was still too young for it and never got around to finishing my license.

Anyway, I’d go out with whoever was available for the time slot, and there was turnover, and switches due to last-minute charters. Messed things up a little - I got taught slow flight, which is pretty basic, three times, on the other hand this one guy insisted on taking me through stalls way too early. Those planes are built to be hard to stall though, and at that age I wasn’t strong enough to pull the yoke back enough, so he took over to show me and in the process accidentally put us into a spin, which is a) terrifying, and b) the exact thing you’re supposed to avoid by learning to handle stalls.

But the thing that draws my attention today, I just remembered one of my instructors - José, I think, this scruffy-looking 30something guy with mirrored aviators and a Columbian accent so thick it sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.

And the connection I made - this was like 1996? Which means in 1986 he was a scruffy-looking 20something pilot with mirrored aviators and a Columbian accent.

Looking back on it, man, that guy probably has some stories to tell. Or not tell.