HEY ROOKIE!

Yeah you. Face it, we've all been rookies. Remember first grade? Some stay rookies forever more or less, and in lots of different ways. Others go high and far only to begin again from some new angle if their luck holds out. We all have plenty of rookie moments during any ordinary day. They're what provoke our intelligence and keep us young. When a gull poos on your canopy just after you stow the polish that's no time to be unappreciative, it's a challenge to maintain perspective and practice levelheadedness. Welcome the obvious humor too, if you've got the salt. Heaven help a rookie who lacks salt. See, in this discussion rookie always means you, get it Rookie? (And me too naturally, rookie-in-chief.) Honest, don't most of your strongest, deepest memories flag the first time you did something? Or saw something? First fireworks. First elephant. First airplane. The law of primacy is about you, Rook. Us.Whatever your status it's always the first time you've come this far. Still a rookie. Every Concorde captain was a rookie captain once. Before that they were rookie right-seaters, rookie puddle jumpers, rookie instructors, with each step to the next stage feeling like they'd hit the jackpot. Pity the rookie with a rookie instructor! Slow up Rookie and cherish the initiation. Turns out this trip is mostly all initiation, and when that's finished you are too, pretty much. All downhill from there. When you stop learning you start dying. One day you'll notice, belatedly or otherwise, that your considerable prowess is eroding. You'll be a rookie at that too. Soon after will come your first flight as an acknowledged old-timer, which if played well could be a capstone moment in your personal cradle-to-grave saga. (Or you could make it deeply, darkly sad; I've watched it go both ways.) Then when you inevitably croak you'll be a rookie at that also, exactly like everyone else before and after. It was King Soloman who wrote, "...and there is nothing new under the sun." What he said leading up to that we'll leave between you and the one for whom he spoke. Look it up. You'll know you're old when you hear yourself grunt settling into the cockpit, and need to plan getting out like a construction project. When you forget more than you remember because new data flowing in keeps pushing stuff that was important out the scuppers. Earlobes long as the Statue of Liberty's. Frost on the roof and dust in the firebox. Old pilots are some of my favorite people to soar with unless they're too full of themselves to enjoy it. I must have flown with hundreds over the years, learning treasured lessons from many, and am now becoming one myself. Back around age fifteen I began consciously preparing for this phase in order to not be dragged through it like an execution (having Gracious Geezer as one's ultimate goal allows a sporting chance of success anyway). How effective five decades of OJT have been, we'll soon see. Some old pilots with logbooks full of laurels on which they could rest try to reenact their glory days in a vessel (their physiological self) that is no longer fit to the task. Those rookies are the foolish ones. A dear friend and mentor once gave me the duty of telling him when it was time to hang 'em up – and when I finally did he ran me off like a public menace. Rookie move on his part, and sadly it didn't work out for him. The only good thing, when at last he did destroy himself he was not at the controls of an aircraft. You can march through life bearing ego the size of a house and for a long while the extra effort makes you stronger, but eventually it will crush you unless you crawl out from under it. If you're uneasy with the spectre of aging, or can't believe it's actually occurring in your case, you need to understand that not only is it unavoidable, it's OKAY. No one else will view your age as a problem unless you fail to adjust in appropriate manner. When patriarch Jimmy Doolittle retired from air racing at the very pinnacle of that sport he said, "I have yet to hear anyone engaged in this work dying of old age." He was thirty-six. Later, after enormous contributions to triumph in both major theaters of WWII he famously turned in his pilot certificate at the age of sixty. Orville and Wilber Wright both quit flying in their forties! These were not wussies, they were courageous, intrepid dudes. And they were intelligent. They understood themseves well enough to embrace life (which includes aging) fully, and not let pride or maudlin sentiment cloud their realism. Having accomplished valued goals, they were content to step away with dignity and savor their earned rewards. How you handle this issue will reveal a lot. Go on as you always have while your perception and responses inexorably deteriorate, and everyone will know it. And you can assume they'll talk. If pride is what motivates you this defeats that purpose, even as you continue to dodge the embarrassment or manifold hardship it will bring in the end. But what if you don't want to quit, or doubt you could even bear it? The wise rookie may continue flying safely well on into dotage by swallowing silly pride and always inviting a safety pilot. It can be a paid commercial pilot or instructor or some younger flying buddy. If they happen to be less skilled (than you were) that hardly matters. All you need from them is basic competence plus sharp eyes, quick reflexes and crisp memory. The fresher they are the more eager they'll be for any opportunity to fly, and who knows, maybe you can share important tidbits with them while they're protecting you with their youth. Just be sure to always distinguish who is technically pilot in command and who actually has control, then go have fun. It's very satisfying when done in the right spirit. Learning you're still a rookie years after you thought you'ld beat the rap is more humbling than being one in the first place, but this final humbling can be a generous source of virtue as well. Buy in, Rook (with what's left of the salt), and give it your best. Show us how the spheric ideal of a baby's bottom is rivaled by that of a balding head. Remember, it's never been about you, it'll always be about IT. Lose your inner narcissist with glee, like the training wheels on that very first bike, but whatever you do never lose your inner rookie.Next lesson: the SOPHOMORE JYNX.