It was the homecoming of a true hero every evening my dad came back from work. He would whistle as soon as he entered the house and then my two sisters and I would run towards him. I remember his big smile, his skin darkened by long hours working at the helipad, under the sun. I remember his cap: he loves caps with aviation logos! I remember his uniform, and his big watch! Aviation men love big watches! I remember Dad’s small metal ruler kept in his left shirt pocket, and his weary hands carrying those aviation manuals I would learn to love as if they were masterpieces of literature. I remember the way he smelled: after a long work journey, Dad would smell like aircraft! I guess I shouldn’t wonder why I love the way aircraft smell! I just grew up surrounded by it! And my biggest hero often smells a lot like it!
My sisters and I would hug my dad in cherish and he would hug us back and laugh, while asking us how we were and what we had done in the afternoon. He would spend some minutes asking us about school. Mom then would reach us all as well, and would kiss dad and ask him about his journey. Those were such beautiful moments, such tender ones, and they repeated themselves day after day for years, before we left Palmira, in the south of Colombia, and moved to Bogotá. We were such a poor family back then while living in Palmira, but we were so incredibly happy. We didn’t have much in our little house in Palmira… and yet, we had it all.
Back then in those years in Palmira, my dad used to work full time with helicopters for the very first time. After finishing his technical high school studies he worked here and there, some months in aviation and later on doing different odd things such as driving taxis. But aviation was his life long dream and finally he was reaching for it, under the sun in Palmira. He always wanted to be a helicopter pilot, but studying to become a pilot is a very expensive thing and he couldn’t make it. Luckily, he managed to apply to one of the few high schools in Colombia where you could get aviation education and then he became one tough technician. You should see his old notebooks! Everything is beautifully written, with so much care, and there are pictures here and there, pictures by his own hand, of course! I would stare for hours at his notes and his books!
When I was a little kid in Palmira, I would spend my afternoons among my dad’s notebooks, his manuals, and his beloved aviation encyclopaedia. I would also play (and argue!) with my sisters and nothing would be better than our dad’s welcoming every evening. Mom remembers those days with so much joy and thinks of them as the best time ever in our lives. They definitively were. Life was just too easy. It was all about dreaming, playing, and watching my dad soar above the sky onboard good old Bell 47's helicopters. That was fantastic: as soon as mum heard the helicopter roaming approaching home she would rush to the front door and call us! “Come here, hurry! Your dad is coming!”. We would gaze at the sky and enjoy the view of our dad flying above the house. I remember seeing him pretty well through the big open canopy of the Bell 47’s he used to test fly with his friends at work. His big smile full of joy would shine more than the sun itself. And we, mom, my sisters and I, would all cherish at that, would love it all!
No comments:
Post a Comment