My father was a WWII flying ace. He flew P-51 Mustangs, he taught cadets to fly them, as well. He wound up having to ditch in the North Sea three times. He lost friends, comrades, and “wings” (wingmates) in that war. (He flew in the European theatre, flying out of Britain.) I know he was in the bombing of Dresden as air cover, and I know it was one of his worst nightmares of the war.
He never spoke much about World War II. But he did share some of his pranks and escapades…like flying a P-51 upside down through an open hanger and having everyone hit the deck. The tower couldn’t believe he did it. But he did. And got away with it, too.
Anyway, I miss him. A lot. I miss him so much that I can’t even coherently write about him, but he was MY hero, and always will be.
Turning my head from primarily working my graphic arts biz (see zentao.com if curious, though that’s not the half of it, not even) to writing as my focus makes me even more aware of how much work I was doing helping others with their projects while ignoring mine. It’s a real eye-opener. To suddenly focus on me is all but a completely new experience. In fact, it is a completely new experience. There’s a sense of utter joy, deeply felt to almost overwhelming, but there’s also this odd sense of guilt–a sense that I’m neglecting something that’s crucial. So I’m going to compromise just a little. I won’t say no to everyone who asks for assistance, just the most presumptive.