Fly away home
Welcome to this week’s Reno News & Review.
If you haven't been made aware of this, I'm kind of a control freak. I don't think I'm one of those flaky ones, like a hyper-vigilant parent who thinks they can control their child's every move, but one time I commented in a bar that I'm not a Type A personality, and everyone at the table laughed at—not with—me.
Flying in an airplane is difficult for me. It's a couple of quandaries ground together into a bitter fear sausage. First, I don't like heights; particularly heights on manmade contrivances—like the tops of buildings or on bridges or in airplanes. Second, I don't like having fear make my choices for me, so even though I don't like going in airplanes or on bridges, I'm going to do it anyway. Third, I like to be in unusual places with out of the ordinary people. Finally, I trust myself to be in charge over someone with more experience, because I'm arrogant—like I'd rather drive the plane myself (maybe). In fact, I think it's a peculiar arrogance that makes me believe the plane will fall out of the sky or the earthquake will hit just as I'm crossing the bridge if I'm not in control.
Kind of makes you wonder how I end up in places like Uruguay or Istanbul, doesn't it?
This trip isn't going to be all that exotic. Hunter and I are going back to my hometown, Fall City, Nebr., to check in with my dad and relive all those awkward moments that strung one after the other like links of wrenched-gut chorizo. I like to take Hunter along to these family get-togethers so he'll appreciate what he has out here in the biggest little city.
If I don't survive the flight, I just want you to remember that I went down not doing it my way. If I'd been allowed to do it my way, I'm quite certain I'd be having a drink with you next week at the Red Rock Bar.