Since the days when he learned to walk and talk, Henry wanted to fly. Fuselages and wings were magnetic to his young eyes. Desire grew out of the fluid shapes of planes and their weightless elegance. His friends, teenaged, quarreled over cars, raced and repaired them after school. Henry drove the cheapest thing that would run and saved his money. Aviation magazines and manuals crowded the bookcase in his shrinking room. His parents expected a call from the recruiter any day when he turned seventeen. A boy like that can’t wait another year, they figured. He ran early morning laps around the neighborhood like a dog after a rabbit.
— read the rest of the story over at The Assortment —
