Mercy! Mercy! That Dang Nabed PERCY!

Look at Me.... I'm an Aviator

Look at Me, I’m an Aviator

Yesterday I went to the flying field and crashed a new airplane. My wife goaded me into buying it at the Hobby Shop in Wausau. She does that often… goads me into doing things that I sometimes want to do and sometimes don’t. One of her techniques is to say, “If you want it get it… heavens know you can afford it… Chase your passions and dreams…. Can’t take it with you… We are on the home stretch, Honey…” and on and on with that type of encouragement. Then when I indulge myself, she smiles that loving smile, but afterwards on the ride home always points out the same thing. She says, “Why is it that when I buy something it’s small and when you do it is ten times more expensive?” Then she cackles that inimitable chortle that takes some of the joy out of the purchase and I am flooded with buyer’s remorse. Even a loving wife has to get her digs in. It’s a compulsion buried deep in in the female DNA. It isn't just women but men too. For every high there is a low and and doesn't everybody have a tendency to "Poop" in their mess kits? (A famous military saying.)

The president of our flying club told me that those learning to fly Radio Control (RC) need to crash the nicest model they can afford and get past that experience. That after that crashing the novice will become calloused and not suffer the dread of worrying about failure. (One of his favorite saying is “Been there done that.”

One of the things I have noticed is that many of the members of the flying club are divorced. Not one or two but a disproportionate number. When I think about it, which isn’t a lot, I see a behavior practiced that if exercised in real life could lead to catastrophic consequences. The cost of the hobby is not trivial but not as expensive as real automobiles or airplanes. Still I think it illustrates a male spending money on things that take away from the overall family.

Maybe the attraction is that vicarious sense of danger. When you wreck a plane on the computer simulator or even at the flying field you wind up with a pile of kindling but otherwise you are not physically injured. Could it be that this hobby is a vicarious sort of “Death Wish?” Or maybe after failing in a complicated relationship like marriage there is a sense of guilt and a man wants to prove himself thru learning a difficult skill? (Look at me, I’m an aviator) Think about it…. The wife is gone with the kids…. Has the model airplane become the proxy for a relationship that went south?

I think socially we are in the process of redefining the purpose of the male in modern society. Women are so much better suited to many of the tasks necessary to succeed economically. If escape through drugs isn’t an option then there are other ways to find relief from feelings of low self-worth and esteem. I think that like Golf, NASCAR, and a host of other hobbies, men get to return to doing things with their hands that excite a passion that the work place and home environment no longer can provide.

It this the grist for a novel or what?