My father doesn’t like to sit still. He’s always outside: tinkering with his tractor, using a chainsaw, or flying in his small airplane. He got his pilot’s license the same year I was born and I grew up riding alongside him in his single engine airplane, peering out the window, yelling at the top of our lungs to communicate with each other.
Over the years, his love for flight hasn’t changed, but now I have to yell to speak to him even when we’re on the ground. The constant exposure to the deafening sound of the engine took its toll and, at 60 years old, he was forced to admit he needed hearing aids.
