We got going this morning in what we thought was plenty of time. Pro tip: it’s never enough time. We finally got out of the car about the time the Blues were taxiing out onto the runway. We reached the air field in time to see them takeoff. And then?
Just wide open grins for an hour.
I told the girls that it’s physically impossible for me to keep a straight face, or not exclaim loudly for every pass. In a different lifetime I would have been up there with them.
It’s always been my dream, from the time we moved to Pensacola in 1975. From first seeing them I’ve idolized them. My dad worked at the base and on occasion he’d take me to see their practices where we’d watch them fly while we picked blackberries. I longed to be the opposing soloist, number 6. I actually don’t remember why I latched onto that position, whether he caught me with a particularly good sneak pass or whether I met one sometime. Regardless, now I just gape like a child in fascination.
On our way home we grabbed some lunch at a wonderful barbecue place then took a fast drive past my childhood home which has seen far better days.
It’s been a bit weird seeing my hometown. It feels old and dreary, run down. There’s very little that I find memorable in a good way. Just odd.