The B.A.G.

This is B.A.G., Mr. F-18 pilot extraordinaire. He and his lovely wife, Mrs. B.A.G. live life by the seat of their pants. Mrs. B.A.G.'s father also flew fighters. B.A.G.'s father (Mr. Flying Tiger) was also a pilot, so the grand tradition continues. Oh, and he's related to me--my only brother.

My brother's initial choice, however, was submarines. My grandmother always fretted about my dad's decision to fly planes, so B.A.G. agonized about how to present his change in choice to her. To our surprise, Grandmom said, "Oh, that's good. I worried about you on the bottom of the ocean!"

B.A.G. has his master's in electrical engineering U of I. He's brilliant. This is the same child who read airplane manuals when he was six. This is also the same child who understood words when he read them, but didn't always know how to pronounce them. My parents' fave was "sin-ock-ran-ize" for synchronize (my dad used to ask us to "sin-ock-ran-ize" our watches), and my favorite is "ann-hil-e-ate" for annihilate.

He lands his fighter on the back of a boat. I try not to think of that too often. I asked him what it was like to carry all those killer, powerful bombs around, thinking he'd laugh, but he sobered quite quickly and sighed. I don't remember what he said, but I got the distinct impression that it is a very big responsibility and it's awesome in its implications. I found out how he got his call sign, B.A.G., which stands for "Braking Action Good." Apparently, in his first month with his squadron (you get a new call sign with each squadron, you know - his last was "Prozac"), he went down the runway too slowly to lift off, so he slammed on the brakes hard, causing them to catch fire. He had to jump 15 feet down from the cockpit amidst a flurry of safety/fire workers. So, it stuck. Mrs. B.A.G. says that's really tame compared to some of the other call signs in the squadron, so we're a little relieved!

There is something that I desperately wish to pay back, though. I love him completely, but there was this incident in North Carolina for which forgiveness is available, IF...

I was 15, almost 16. Mom was teaching me how to drive a stick shift in an ‛84 Subaru. My brother, in the back seat, screamed "Oh my God, we're going to die!" when I crunched. I want SO desperately to stow a tape recorder with the same on his plane!!!

So, that's B.A.G., adored uncle and wife to a very brilliant, well-read English teacher. Mom says Mrs. B.A.G. only has to flash a shy smile to make him melt. Too cute!