It was a humid and warmer than usual summer month in Georgia. He picked me up in his Ford sedan. My legs stuck to the seats like a fly on a honey trap. I started to fidget and bite my nails. I did this not only when I was nervous, but it was now a well-formed habit. One I had picked up (or inherited) from him. We started our 4+ hour drive north. I waited for the radio to start our magic (and his epic air guitar skills). Huey Lewis and the News graced us with Hip to be Square. He turned up the dial and we both sang from the top of our lungs--windows down and ready for a hamburger run. Our journey continued north to the big city of Atlanta and then he turned down the stereo and it happened--the decision that would be the beginning of my heart's deepest longing. He turned his blue eyes to meet mine and said: So, how would you like to start flying to Atlanta? His words were still running through my mind. Fly to Atlanta? I was slightly confused, so I replied with So, would you fly with me?
No, you'd fly on your own.
I could hardly believe it. For the past couple of years, he had always driven to Savannah for our long visits. My dad was now letting me fly. By. Myself. And my mom had agreed. I wanted to scream and shrill with excitement, but somehow, I kept my cool and responded, "Sure. That would be great."
My heart started to flutter with nervousness and excitement at the unexpected. I had never flown by myself and I honestly couldn't remember the last time I had flown in the short 7 years of my lifetime.
But that hot and humid summer day was the day I fell in love. It was the day that I knew that life would forever change. Adventure was on the horizon and I had been given a ticket.
Travel and I would soon kiss and our love affair would never die.
Thanks to the man of my dreams--my dad.
My heart took flight.