I finally got a chance to take my sons flying today. My eldest, Alan, age 23, had flown a couple of times, once commercially and once on his 21st birthday when he took a weekend parachuting course and bailed out of a perfectly good airplane at 18,000 feet. (Instructors on both sides of him thankfully!) My youngest, Jonathan, who just turned 20, had never flown.

We rented a little 152 from my local FBO Southernaire. It happened to be the one I soloed in last October. Of course, I had to take them up one at a time, the lighter one (the eldest) first.

After remedying some radio problems - the push-to-talk switch didn't work - we were off. I flew him about 20 miles away and circled his old alma mater in a nearby town, letting him briefly handle the controls.

After a quick stop to unload Alan and pick up his younger brother we headed out again on pretty much the same route. Unlike his elder brother, Jonathan wasn't interested in handling the controls, just enjoying the scenery.

I did have one brief embarrassing moment after the second landing. I thought I had slowed sufficiently to take the first of three taxiways, but after turning toward the taxiway, I realized I still had too much groundspeed, and had to bring the plane back onto the runway.

All was well...no harm, no foul...just injury to my pride. Of course, it didn't help that I had my son with me. I wanted to really look good for him. Anyway, lesson learned; don't take Bravo when Charlie will do better! I think he'll still fly with me again in spite of the glitch.

The time spent with these young men, my two boys, is always precious. They have grown up all too quickly. To be able to experience the joy of flying with them is more than I have words to say.

Oh, and the closest national monument was Elvis Presley's birthplace. But, they don't protect it with F-16s! (They ought to. It is the home of the King after all!)