I should not be here writing this article. Having been born eight weeks early in 1962-and weighing under three pounds-the odds of survival were not in my favor. My parents were told to go home from the hospital and try again for another baby boy. A priest even came to their front door to express his condolences for my passing. Lucky for me, they had sent the priest to the wrong address. So began my interest in a life of being in the clouds. Being born in the early '60s, during the still-early days of commercial jet aviation, must have been why, by the time I was 13, becoming a Pilot was not everything to me-it was the only thing. Some early jet plane rides to Disneyland and London piqued my interest. Also, my parents had a business near San Jose Airport (SJC). As a kid, I spent a lot of time at the end of a runway: an exciting way to kill time. I began looking into flying lessons shortly after my 16th birthday. My father was not amused and told me I would have to save up for lessons. But he did give me a summer job that paid $100 a week. Within a year, I could afford the rental of a Cessna 152 at $19 per hour, plus $10 for an instructor. Being more interested in airplanes than cars, I was flying before I had my driver's license. On January 7, 1980, when I passed my check-ride, the FAA (Federal Aviation Administration) examiner gave me one piece of advice that I still practice today. "This is a license to learn," he counseled. "Use it as such. Every day in aviation, you will be challenged with a new situation; stay open-minded, and it will serve you well."
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