A Man Named Dave

missiles. And … I think … it was two, maybe three years ago that a modified F-15 Streak Eagle beat the time-to-climb altitude record held by a Russian MeG.” I paused to catch my breath and waited for his reaction. Craving acceptance, I didn’t want the sergeant to think I was trying to show off. By the smile in his eyes I realized he was not only impressed, but interested in planes as well.
    “That’s ‘MiG’ Pelz-ter, not ‘MeG’,” he countered. “Okay, smart guy: What base did they launch the Streak Eagle from?”
    “Grand Forks, North Dakota!” I stated with confidence.
    “All right, not bad. Now,” he said, “the big one: Why Grand Forks?”
    I smiled back, enjoying the game. “Molecule compression. The colder air allows the plane to reach speeds and altitudes quicker while at the same time consuming less fuel. I mean … I think that’s the idea.”
    The sergeant responded with a wide grin and slapped me on the shoulder. “Where in the hell did you … ?”
    By instinct, I hesitated. For a second I thought I had just revealed military secrets. “I read, sir.”
    “You read?”
    “Ah … yes, sir. I read a lot. I’ve always wanted to … I mean, Sergeant?” I asked in a low voice. “You think they’d ever let me fly?”
    “My Lord!” he coughed. “You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?
    “Hey, Max,” he bellowed to the next cubicle. “I got the next Chuck Yeager over here! Wants to know if he can fly!” As a small roar of laughter erupted, I closed my eyes. I always seemed to say the wrong thing at the wrong time and make a jerk out of myself.
    After I let out a deep breath, the sergeant caught my eye. I stated in a firm tone, “Chuck Yeager was enlisted before he flew.”
    The sergeant thumbed through my paperwork. “Listen, Pelz, you barely made it in. You’re a high school dropout, your aptitude scores are way below average, and you have the body of a skinny rat with the eyesight of Stevie Wonder. A fly boy? Thought you wanted to be a fireman. Listen,” he said, “here’s what you do: Learn your trade as a fireman and get some college classes under your belt. Heck, the air force will pay for your tuition. And then after a few years if you want to reenlist, you can apply for a slot. That’s a major goal, but if you’re serious, we’ll meet you halfway. Okay?”
    I swallowed hard, realizing how lucky I was to even enlist. “Yes, sir. I understand. Thanks for the advice.”
    “Hey, that’s what I’m here for.” He stood up, indicating he was through with me. “Not to worry, Pelz. You keep studying and they’ll have you piloting the SR-71.” He then raised his eyebrows. “I assume with your plethora of aeronautical knowledge, you do know about the Blackbird, don’t you?”
    My eyes lit up at the mention of my favorite plane. “Yes, sir!” I exclaimed. “I know about the Blackbird, like nobody’s business!”
    “Well then, we’ll see you next week.” He extended his hand.
    “Thank you, sir,” I said as I shook it. “I’ll make you proud. You’ll see.”
    The sergeant let out a chuckle, released my hand, then snapped to attention and gave me a crisp salute. “See ya, Airman Pelz-a-Yeager!”
     
    Later that afternoon, before I chickened out and changed my mind, I informed my foster parents, “I enlisted in the air force! I leave next week!”
    “Oh, really?” my foster father, Harold Turnbough, casually replied.
    I searched their eyes for any kind of reaction to my explosive news. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, I broke the ice. “I’m going nowhere. I’ve been working myself stupid. I thought I could find the answers – to my past, to Mother – trying to numb myself about my dad. And now, now it’s my time. My time to make something of myself. I’ve already missed so much, but if I stay focused and work hard, maybe someday I can turn this around.” I stopped to gauge their response. My foster parents continued to just sit there. “Isn’t that what you’ve tried to teach me; I mean, to become self-reliant? Well … ?” I asked, frustrated.
    Alice and Harold, who years ago had adopted me into their hearts, began to nod their heads before exploding with laughter. I shook my head in disgust. Because of the day’s mounting tensions – the test and examinations, my fear of not being good enough to enlist, my lack of sleep, and hiding my secret for so long – I felt sick to my stomach. “Stop it!” I shouted. “What’s so funny? This is serious! I mean it! I already signed the paperwork.”
    Alice leaned over to embrace me.