Touch and Go Series!

By Nico Willoughby-Smith

In the fast-moving world of aviation, any pilot who can claim forty active years at the controls will also want to claim the distinction of being involved in the most interesting era in aviation. There was no such era. From the Wright brothers to the Raptor, it has been a short swift journey. I was in the middle somewhere; as a commercial pilot from 1964 to 2004.

 

Being red/green colour-blind, I was consequently a late starter; finding out aged twenty-seven that I could be graded "red/green, defective safe, grade 2" (whatever that meant), and thus began my exciting airborne life; a small part of which is depicted in "Touch and Go" – the Rambling Adventures of an African Bush-Pilot.

In those days, the military were playing around with evolving jet and turbine power plants. These engines have slowly come to infiltrate most areas of aviation; but thankfully that was after my time; (which was 'hands-on' and in the left-hand seat); so, I never got to start a turbine or jet engine aircraft.  Days, mostly eclipsed by the sophistication found everywhere today.

 

If a dedication is required, then it must be to the generation of Air cooled, horizontally opposed, Normal aspirated, Turbo-charged, and Super-charged power plants that took me into the sky and made for a life of adventure most people can only dream about.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nico Willoughby-Smith
• Release date: Jun 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227495372

Book preview

Title: Weathering Life's Storms: A True Tale by N Dixon

Copyright © 2008 N Dixon Contact: [e-mail] All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system without prior permission from the copyright holder.

The author, N Dixon, retains her rights under the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act, to be identified as the author of this work. This book is a non-fictional account based on the author's life, experiences, and recollections. Certain names of individuals and places have been altered to safeguard privacy. The author attests to the truthfulness of the book's contents.

This publication is sold under the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or circulated without the author's prior consent in any binding or cover other than that in which it is published. This condition must also be imposed on subsequent purchasers.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Editor's Note

Prologue

Chapter 1: My Whirlwind Childhood: Dodging Dinosaurs and Ducking Desserts

Chapter 2: Surviving the Storm: How I Became the Human Umbrella

Chapter 3: Juggling Chainsaws and Custard Pies: The Balancing Act of Adulthood

Chapter 4: Patching Up Heartbreaks and Lost Socks: Healing 101

Chapter 5: Light Bulbs and Lampshades: Navigating Life's Bright Spots and Dark Corners

Chapter 6: Dreams Crumbled Like Stale Cookies: A Tale of Broken Aspirations

Chapter 7: Floaties and Flotation Devices: The Epic Battle Against the Sea of Adulthood

Chapter 8: Seeking Enlightenment or Just the Remote Control: A Journey to Understanding... Something.

Chapter 9: Love: The Masterclass You Never Signed Up For

Chapter 10: Wrangling Wild Toddlers and Teenage Tornados: The Joy of Guiding the Next Generation

Chapter 11: Dreams Took a Detour to Nowhere: How I Ended Up in Traffic

Chapter 12: Losing Battles to Inanimate Objects: The Chronicles of Facing Defeat

Chapter 13: The Ghost of Forgotten Socks: Forever Absent but Not Forgotten

Chapter 14: A GPS for the Soul: Navigating the Maze Back to Myself

Chapter 15: Arm Wrestle with Inner Demons: How I Learned to Beat Them at Rock, Paper, Scissors

Epilogue

About the Author

Dedication:

This book is lovingly dedicated to the little mischief-makers who've turned my hair gray and my patience into a rare commodity.

Editor’s Note:

This heartfelt reflection delves into the challenges of growing up in a family flawed by turmoil and strife, where emotional and physical abuse cast a long shadow. It is a sobering narrative that underscores the profound impact of love, support, and care – all vital elements that every child yearns for. Yet, amidst the darkness, there are rays of hope and resilience. Despite facing trials and heartbreaks, tenacity, and courage shine through. Despite setbacks and painful losses, she finds the strength to piece her life together repeatedly.

Sadly, her story echoes the silent struggles of others affected by abuse, whose voices often remain unheard. But amidst the sorrow lies a beacon of hope. Through sharing her experiences, she offers solace and inspiration to those in similar situations, urging them to seek a path toward healing and renewal. Her narrative speaks volumes: there's a way forward from the darkness of abuse, towards a future filled with love, redemption, and the promise of brighter days ahead.

Introduction:

Once adorned with a facade of cheerfulness, she now grappled with the aftermath of her pursuits. Faced with stifling loneliness and a yearning for release. Struggling against a sense of isolation, her frustrations projected toward anyone else within reach. A woman of fervent emotions, she felt shattered by her husband's perceived lack of affection. Unable to comprehend his emotional distance, she internalised feelings of rejection. Plagued by uncertainty and self-doubt, she found herself consumed by introspection rather than moving forward. Days echoed with arguments and strained silence, while nights were plagued by unsettling dreams.

Despite the interventions, she remained adrift, longing for unconditional love. Her turmoil is traced back to her tumultuous upbringing, marred by her parents' divorce, which left her feeling abandoned and insecure. Rejection from others only fuelled her sense of victimhood, leading to outbursts and retreats into solitude. In her eyes, these displays were desperate pleas for assistance.

Desperate for attention akin to a drowning individual gasping for air, she sought validation from others relentlessly, yet deflected responsibility for her actions. Convinced that she was misunderstood and unfairly targeted, she rebuffed criticism and clung to her beliefs about child-rearing, convinced of the necessity of love and affection for a child's well-being. Had she been afforded more autonomy, her confidence would have flourished, but she remained trapped in unhappiness and conflict, feeling besieged by her own family.

In her world, caring, peace, and love seemed unattainable.

Chapter 1

My Whirlwind Childhood: Dodging Dinosaurs and Ducking Desserts

Growing up in a home where authority was like a permanent house guest, I learned early to put others first. Self-love? That was like a mythical creature – everyone had heard of it, but no one had ever seen it. Vanity was a cardinal sin, and trying to look good was seen as akin to worshiping yourself in the mirror. I was groomed to take my losses with a smile, even when the game was rigged from the start. This upbringing turned me into a validation-seeking missile, always looking for approval from others because self-love was considered off-limits.

Writing this book is my way of breaking the communication ice with my kids. I hope none of you take the same bumpy road I did. Life is not a one-way street; there are always different perspectives. You need to see all sides before making decisions, balancing them like a tightrope walker.

My childhood was a roller coaster, with my mother in the driver’s seat and my father barely on board. The constantly shifting rules left me feeling like I was tiptoeing through a minefield, leading to an ever-present sense of anxiety. I believe in leading by example when it comes to parenting. Kids should be allowed to express their opinions and stand their ground; after all, they’re individuals, not puppets.

My parents, bless their hearts, never admitted they were wrong. They seemed to think parenthood came with a halo of infallibility. Despite the emotional bruises they left, they dodged accountability like it was a chore they could ignore. It is a stark reminder that parenthood does not come with a get-out-of-jail-free card for mistakes.

My parents positioned themselves as the ultimate authority figures, often treating us kids like subjects in their little kingdom. They feared us becoming independent, always finding ways to keep us under their thumb even as we grew up and started our own families.

In these circumstances, I found my values through sheer grit, despite the lack of support. My upbringing, filled with parental self-absorption and neglect, pushed me to rely on my instincts and curiosity to find better ways to parent. I hope my kids can overcome these familial hurdles and foster mutual understanding without the obstacles I faced.

Each of my children has been raised in different environments, exposing them to emotional hurdles that might appear later in life. Disagreements are part of the deal, but maintaining family bonds is crucial. My determination has kept me from being swallowed by my mother’s controlling nature and resentment.

My father’s privileged yet emotionally barren upbringing stands in stark contrast. Shipped off to boarding school, he faced a strained relationship with his family. His rebellious acts were cries for attention in a desert of emotional neglect.

My family history, complex and tangled, has shaped my views on parenting and relationships. I strive for empathy, understanding, and resilience in adversity.

My mother’s humble beginnings were a lesson in societal expectations. Divorce was a no-go, so her parents stuck it out, loveless but together. Her mother’s obsessive attention turned my mother into a self-centred queen bee, never learning to share or love beyond herself. Even as a child, she exhibited a mean streak, once pushing another child off a bike just because she didn’t like them.

At 16, after a traumatic incident with her father, my mother fled to Johannesburg, honing her skills in manipulation. She knew everyone’s secrets and wasn’t afraid to use them. This talent extended beyond family dynamics, creeping into her professional life as well.

My mom's life was a tale of two worlds. She found love young, had two kids, and left them with her mother when she moved on. When she met my dad, she was dazzled by his status and wealth, even though she was still engaged. Money became her north star, and she wasn’t shy about stretching the truth to suit her needs.

Despite their rocky relationship, my mom pushed my dad to become a pilot, a career that brought him immense pride. However, their marriage quickly revealed cracks and financial troubles surfaced. My father's mother stepped in to help, but their relationship remained stormy. They struggled to have more children due to my dad's low sperm count, unaware of my mom's secret abortion.

Their union was a mix of love and conflict, marked by fiery disputes. I entered the scene as a breech baby, adding more drama. My dad's fondness for me was clear, but their relationship was fraught with tension and blame games.

One of the rare times they entertained friends ended in chaos, with my dad assaulting my mom in a graveyard. This incident marked their tumultuous relationship, leaving lasting scars. Despite the violence, they stayed together for 21 years, creating a volatile environment that left me constantly on edge.

My father's caring nature was overshadowed by his temper and my mom's manipulative ways. She controlled us, and my dad's affection felt like a forbidden fruit. Their fights were terrifying, and my mom's manipulation left me feeling conflicted about my love for my dad.

My childhood was filled with moments of fear and confusion, but I remember fond times too. Despite the chaos, I loved my dad, though expressing it openly felt like a betrayal to my mom. Her influence kept us distant, and my dad's long absences made her control even more palpable.

Despite everything, I hold on to the hope that my children can break free from these patterns. By understanding the complexities of my family history, as I strive to create a more empathetic and resilient future for them.

Back in the fourth grade, my folks got this wild idea to start a pancake joint. Why? Well, they stumbled upon this pancake paradise in Hillbrow, probably had one too many syrup-induced epiphanies, and thought, Hey, why not us in Alberton? Grandma chips in some dough, and voilà, we've got a fancy pancake palace ready to roll. Meanwhile, yours truly gets shipped off to boarding school faster than a pancake flips.

Now, I do not mind the boarding school bit. It is a nice break from the daily pancake drama at home. But being the sensitive soul I am, I still crave some homey vibes. You know, someone to trust, to spill my pancake-filled heart out to. But with my folks on the verge of a syrupy showdown at any moment, that is a tall order.

After the pancake fiasco, it was off to East London we go, then back to Joburg faster than you can say flapjack. Mom's got issues with Grandpa's new wife, calling her names like she is a burnt pancake. And family holidays? More like covert operations, sneaking out of town before anyone can say maple syrup.

But amidst all the chaos, there were moments. For the time a matron showed me some attention by letting me nom on pomegranates in her garden. It was a brief reprieve from the pancake madness, even if it was a bit silly. And let us not forget the excitement of waiting for the weekend visits from the 'parents, bragging to all my dorm mates like I have won the pancake lottery.

So, there you have it. My childhood served with a side of syrupy drama and a sprinkle of boarding school antics. Who knew pancakes could be so eventful?

My old man's whipping up brandy milkshakes to pass the time, thinking he is the king of the pancake castle. Meanwhile, my dear mother is getting steamed like a pancake on a hot griddle because he's practically giving away our golden pancakes to the less fortunate. Talk about a syrupy showdown!

Then there is this classic Friday afternoon drama: Mom hops into her Beetle, leaving me stuck at home with Daddy dearest, and speeds off like she's in a pancake race. But guess what? She hits a puddle so big, it's practically an ocean and ends up in some marshy mess. Next thing I know, she's being paraded up the driveway looking like she's been in a pancake brawl, broken nose and all. And just like that, she tightens her grip on me like I am the last pancake in the stack.

And oh boy, the argument routine! One look and it is a pancake apocalypse. Dad bolts off to work, and we start packing faster than you can say butter me up, and before you know it, we are playing musical houses