Little Kayla slept the whole flight.
(S. McTavish)

July 1, 1979 is a date that I have no memory of, but its one that had a profound impact on my life. That summer day was my first "recorded" flight in an airplane. I say recorded because it was a 2:30 hour fight from Calgary to Great Falls, on our way to West Yellowstone National Park and I believe my parents would have taken me on at least one local flight before setting off on a long cross-country.

Three years later and my little brother Ross had his first flight in the same plane. Ironically our older brother Scott, for whom "Scottie's Toy" is named, had his first flight not in the twin bearing his name, but in someone else's single Navion.

In the years that followed the three of us followed dad on many of his flights. We attended airshows, fly-in breakfasts, and joined dad when he visited his out of town clients. He had two cushions made for us to sit on, and whoever won the argument for the front seat got to fly. We didn't know that dad could keep us straight with the rudder pedals but we knew how to steer the plane using the ailerons. Navigation was simple - we turned wherever dad pointed. If I was told to fly to a specific mountain or fly over a lake, that's were I'd aim. By the time I started my legal training I'd logged more than 200 hours in the air.

For my brothers and I, love of flight came naturally. It's been in our family for seven decades. Grandpa Franz saved his pennies and with the help of his aunt earned a pilot's license 1937. Since then, there have been seven licensed pilots (three of them senior commercials) in the family. After the war, when my father was born, he received his first flight on the way home from the hospital at the age of three days.

Not quick enough to break his own record, dad had a chance to pass along the experience this June when he gave his first grandchild her first airplane ride. Megan slept through most of the flight but you can't expect too much from a one month old.

I had my own chance to share my love of flight with my own daughter this month, when I used the same plane that had given three other McTavishs their first rides to fly Kayla on a 20 minute trip to Crossfield and back. Like her cousin, she slept most of the time, but I guess there's not much difference between one and two month olds. After we landed I had my father jump aboard for a quick circuit. In the end Kayla had logged almost half an hour from both her dad and grandpa.

I can only hope that I'll do as thorough a job passing along the joy of flight as my father passed along to me.