My earliest memory was sitting on the front porch steps holding a picture of my father so I'd know what he looked like when he came home from the war in the Pacific. My next memory after that was him driving up in a jeep, taking me to the local airport, strapping me into the front seat of a Navy trainer (i.e., Stearman biplane) and giving me my first plane ride. I couldn't see over the edge of the (open air) cockpit so thay stacked several parachute packs for me to sit on. Afterwords, mom was so pissed at him that he probably didn't get any for months. Some 50 years later, Dad and I set about seeing if we could fly ultralights. Dad went up, came right back, landed white as a sheet and said, "You really don't want to do this." It turned out he was right as I survived the contraption coming apart at altitude with only bruises. Mom's reaction and words were the same as before. She angrily said, "After all these years, you're still trying to kill that boy." Earliest memories were revisited and reinforced.