Pilot Graduation

Most of the time I respect my son’s request to avoid mentioning him in my stories.

Will knows there is always more to the story, that some context gets lost within the confines of a word count.

But once in a while, the momentous story must be shared.

Last week, Lt. Will Early earned his wings in the Air Force.

His next assignment is to learn to fly fighter jets.

My daughter, Abby, and I, along with Will’s dad, had the honor of watching Will elbow-bump the base commander as a pilot at Vance Air Force Base in Enid, Okla.

Abby pinned his wings.

Our 36-hour trip away from the ranch smack in the middle of calving season was worth every minute and every dime -- even if it had turned into a 48-hour trip because I forgot to account for rush hour traffic. We caught our flight home -- after running sock-footed to the gate.

Fourteen of the 30 students in Will’s class graduated. Some dropped out, some were reassigned to a later class and others joined to his class.

All of them were challenged mentally, physically and emotionally during this revved-up version of pilot training. The year-long course was crammed into seven months.

Will quarantined twice during training, once with Covid and another time when he was exposed.

When I asked him what was hardest, he immediately answered “mental fatigue.”

His determination and tenacity carried him.

The base commander reminded the graduating students that they didn’t get to this point alone.

As I sat in the audience, I thought of Will’s teachers, coaches and family members who offered encouragement and lessons, even a boost now and then.

And I thought of my brother, mom and apprentice Jennifer who were tagging calves at the ranch so I could celebrate with my son.  

One of my brother’s texts said “Things are going well…We had a newborn struggling to follow mom across the creek so we raced down to get it out of the water. Jennifer took one for the team and jumped in. I’m drying her hiking boots right now. She’s also doing the tagging and banding. I’m roping/holding the calves and keeping an eye on the moms…”

Oh my. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more.

I thought of other people in Will’s life, too.

The well-meaning, good-hearted, utterly-mistaken adults who said he couldn’t do it just because nobody in Conrad ever had. Their comments infuriated me.

And the many people who assumed Will would quit college and come back to the ranch to help me when my husband died.

But the ranch is my dream and my challenge, not his.

Will needs to fly just as much as I need to smell the grass and admire the velvety shine of new calves.

So I take a deep, calming breath and think of friends who encourage Will, even introducing him to retired test pilots who outlined the right path for him.

Will’s training hasn’t been easy, nor inevitable. Just like a few other times in his life, he stumbled a couple of times. And just like those other times, this time he stood back up and took the next step. He, like all of the rest of us, will probably stumble again. He will find the next step.

When my kids were little, I told them that I get to take credit for their accomplishments, but they have to take the blame for their hardships.

I lied.

I can’t take any credit for Will’s wings. He did this. He will keep doing it.

I get the honor of clapping for him.