By Keith N Fisher
In the early days of aviation, planes didn’t have very much, by way of instruments. Perhaps, an oil pressure gauge. Pilots were left to navigate by their wits. Without a radio, they didn’t even have a compass, unless they carried one in their pocket.
Pilots flew by their own instincts. They had to navigate by looking at the landscape. They had to determine level flight by the feel of the aircraft. Thus, the term, flying by the seat of your pants.
Today is Father’s Day. I hope you have a good one. Also, I hope you remember your father, and thank him for doing his best with you.
It’s true that some fathers don’t do their best, but most of them do. Unless you’re Fred McMurray on My Three Sons, most fathers don’t have a clue. Mothers seem to have a natural gift for nurturing. Fathers are left to their wits.
It would be wonderful if each baby was born with it’s own set of instructions. If daughters had a pressure gauge installed in their forehead. A father could read the emotion level and act accordingly. He could read the artificial horizon to see if a kid was drifting off the strait and narrow path. He could read the fuel gauge to know when to give hugs.
Unfortunately, or maybe it’s a good thing, a father is left to the seat of his pants. He knows his wife has it under control, but he revels in his own sweet moments when things seem to come together. He lands in unfamiliar territory with low fuel grateful he didn’t crash, knowing he will have to take off again. He is flying by the seat of his pants, searching for the airdrome, bringing his children into adulthood.
In all your celebrating today, remember, there is another father. Perhaps we can use the day to give thanks to our loving Father in Heaven. He made it to the airdrome many years ago and he knows the way. His instruments are calibrated and he offers a hand to help.
Good luck with your writing—see you next week.
In the early days of aviation, planes didn’t have very much, by way of instruments. Perhaps, an oil pressure gauge. Pilots were left to navigate by their wits. Without a radio, they didn’t even have a compass, unless they carried one in their pocket.
Pilots flew by their own instincts. They had to navigate by looking at the landscape. They had to determine level flight by the feel of the aircraft. Thus, the term, flying by the seat of your pants.
Today is Father’s Day. I hope you have a good one. Also, I hope you remember your father, and thank him for doing his best with you.
It’s true that some fathers don’t do their best, but most of them do. Unless you’re Fred McMurray on My Three Sons, most fathers don’t have a clue. Mothers seem to have a natural gift for nurturing. Fathers are left to their wits.
It would be wonderful if each baby was born with it’s own set of instructions. If daughters had a pressure gauge installed in their forehead. A father could read the emotion level and act accordingly. He could read the artificial horizon to see if a kid was drifting off the strait and narrow path. He could read the fuel gauge to know when to give hugs.
Unfortunately, or maybe it’s a good thing, a father is left to the seat of his pants. He knows his wife has it under control, but he revels in his own sweet moments when things seem to come together. He lands in unfamiliar territory with low fuel grateful he didn’t crash, knowing he will have to take off again. He is flying by the seat of his pants, searching for the airdrome, bringing his children into adulthood.
In all your celebrating today, remember, there is another father. Perhaps we can use the day to give thanks to our loving Father in Heaven. He made it to the airdrome many years ago and he knows the way. His instruments are calibrated and he offers a hand to help.
Good luck with your writing—see you next week.
1 comment:
Great blog, Keith. Thanks for sharing these thoughts.
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