By Shanon Kern

C-FHAD making a water landing. (Courtesy Shanon Kern)On a warm June day, in Vancouver B.C., my family and I watched in awe as small single engine air taxis took off from the bay and disappeared over the horizon. I could see the amazement and wonder in my children’s eyes as the single engine caravan taxied out to the center of the bay and magically lifted upward. In an instant, I was transported back to my own childhood amazement of flight. My Father, a newly minted commercial pilot, flew the “Sports book” from Laughlin, Nev. to Las Vegas, Nev. every night for the casinos. I was his sleeping stow away. By the age of five, my mind was convinced that I would be a pilot like my father.

By the age of seven, my father had changed careers and stopped flying. Somewhere over the years, as life progressed, I had forgotten about my young dreams of becoming a pilot. I was left instead with a completely unfounded and debilitating fear of heights and flying. I spent my entire twenties distancing myself from the dreams of the younger “me”.