There was a day in September of 1978 that dawned crisp and cool. Under a bright blue sky, the valleys were white with fog and the trees were just starting to turn. I remember it so well because it was the day that Danielle, our first child, was born.

Sixteen years later I stood in the middle of a grassy runway, alone with the recollections of her childhood. I thought of her trembling little cry in the delivery room. I thought of the mileposts like birthdays, first words, first steps and first day at school. I thought too about the many little things like the toddler splashing in a tub of rainwater on a midsummer day. It seemed appropriate that this day was as beautiful a day as the day she was born.

The thoughts came to me not one by one, but in a rush, as I watched the little airplane gather speed and rise gently from the turf. The plane was flying away from me even as the air that it had stirred still swirled the grass at my feet. Danielle was on her own.

For a moment I was no longer an instructor, but a father. I said out loud "That's my BABY!" as I watched the plane fade into the distance. I thought of how there was absolutely no way that I could help her, and I thought of how overwhelming the vastness of the sky can be. I thought of how little she knows about so much of life, yet she now had a front seat in an adult world.

As if to reassure myself, I thought of all the things that the two of us had done in the lessons that we had flown through the summer. She has a natural feel for the plane, and had done well with all her maneuvers. She was as well prepared as anybody else I have ever soloed.

As she made the trip around the traffic pattern, I was alternately an instructor watching a student and a father watching a daughter. Soon the plane was growing bigger, coming down the approach path. She was a bit high, and I could see the extra flaps being extended. As if to throw in one last trick, she did a gentle slip to dissipate just a bit more altitude before flaring the plane for the landing. With the pride of an instructor and a father, I watched as the plane hung in the air just above the grass before touching gently on the main wheels.

It wasn't until later that the experience was put into the proper perspective for me. It was just after we had left the Motor Vehicle office that we were walking down the sidewalk. She was clutching her new learner's permit and almost skipped as she said "I can fly! I can drive! Sixteen is cool!"

Like an old man, I had been thinking of the past, and of the constraints of responsibility. As a sixteen year old, she was thinking only of the excitement of the future and of the things she will be able to do.