Ten-year-old Leo, in a small leather flight jacket, headsets around his neck, dark sunglasses, his hair windblown, his face carrying an expression of pure, unshakable confidence.

Behind him climbed down his instructor, Marcus, a retired Air Force veteran with thirty years in the air.

“How was the pattern work, Chief?” Marcus called to me.

“A little heavy on the rudder in the turn to final,” I teased, walking out to meet them.

“But the touchdown was butter.” Leo grinned, hopping off the wing.

“Marcus said I held the centerline better than the college students yesterday!” “He’s not lying,” Marcus laughed.

“The kid has natural hands.