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A newly minted flight instructor once asked me to take him flying in my Bonanza. It was one of those rare days—clear blue skies, calm winds, not a leaf stirring—and I was happy to oblige.
As we walked around the airplane during the preflight, reviewing each checklist item, I asked if he was satisfied. He said yes. As I climbed onto the wing to open the cockpit door, I asked him to take one more quick look around the aircraft.
“You forgot the chocks,” he said.
“Glad you caught that before I started the engine,” I replied. After a brief pause, I asked, “Anything else?”
Now suspicious, he walked another lap around the airplane. I suggested he check the cowling inlets—sometimes birds find their way into the hangar. Moments later, he pulled out my wallet, tucked next to the alternator.
“Cheeky, aren’t you?” he said.
“You’re a passenger today,” I reminded him, “but you’re always responsible.”
Even as a passenger, you’re always responsible.
In aviation, we can’t stitch together uncertainty with confidence and call it safety. Risk is always close at hand, and that reality demands discipline—especially when it comes to checklists.
Once airborne, the Bonanza climbed effortlessly to 6,500 feet. I handed him the controls.
“Wow,” he said. “These controls are heavy compared to the 152 I’m used to.”
After a few turns, I demonstrated a thirty-degree bank, trimmed hands-off. The airplane held its course as if on rails. He smiled. I let him explore power-off stalls and energy management—concepts he hadn’t yet experienced—and we talked through “flight by the numbers”: power, attitude, and configuration. I could see the realization on his face when it all came together.
On the return, I demonstrated a power-off landing. Less than an hour after we’d left, we were back in the hangar.
“Wow,” he said again. “I never realized there were so many nuances to flying.”
As we cleaned up and secured the airplane, he asked why I’d hidden my wallet.
“Because you’ll fly with many different pilots,” I said, “and you’re responsible for confirming that the airplane is airworthy—no matter who owns it or who flew it last. Your life depends on it.”
He nodded.
I asked what he planned to do after earning his CFI.
“I want to build my 1,500 hours and go to the airlines,” he said.
“That’s a good goal,” I replied—and I meant it. I encouraged him, though, to use his time instructing wisely. Teach students how to think, not just how to pass a checkride. Show them techniques, ask questions, and help them manage risk. Teach them respect for aviation.
Before we parted, he asked, “You’re an instructor too, right?”
I nodded.
“But you’re also a doctor?”
I told him I’d been fortunate to fulfill two lifelong passions—medicine and aviation—both centered on protecting lives. A friend of mine, once a chief pilot at a major airline, had put it simply: You may never know the good you do, but you will know the harm you prevent.
We talked again about checklists and risk. I shared a story from my own training, when an instructor canceled my solo cross-country on what appeared to be a perfect day. I was disappointed—until a violent storm erupted on my drive home. That lesson about weather’s fickle nature never left me.
I reminded him there are no gas stations in the sky. Fuel mismanagement remains one of aviation’s most preventable causes of accidents. I encouraged him to fly with as many pilots as possible—not just to teach, but to learn.
Years later, I learned he had earned his ATP and become chief CFI at another airport. When I ran into him at an airport café, he greeted me with a broad smile and thanked me again for that flight.
“I found my calling,” he said. “Teaching pilots to be safe.”
Walt Whitman wrote, “The powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.” Watching that young instructor grow into his role, I knew he had found his.
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Great article and applause to you for taking the time to pass on your knowledge and respect for aviation and your experience to someone of the next generation. One never knows the impact of their interactions with others and how that may determine their future. You did yourself and your passenger a great service by giving him more than just a fun moment.
I was approached a few years ago by a young man at one of the annual Stearman Fly Ins at Galesburg, Illinois. who introduced himself. Seems that many years before that, he was a kid looking through the fence at all the Stearman biplanes that gather every September for the National Stearman Fly In. Somehow I was chosen to give him a ride and that was what set off the spark.
He is now an airline pilot and was proudly showing off his new Stearman that he had just purchased and flown to the event!
This made me feel really great and it not only fulfilled his dream but also helps to pass on the legacy of keeping these old birds, both myself and the airplanes flying.
An excellent article! Thanks for sharing your stories.
Great article Parvez. Have you ever considered joining the Flying Physicians Association? It’s a great organization dedicated to excellence in both medicine and aviation. Our next annual meeting is in Rapid City, SD June 5-9.