On July 5, 2021, I authored a Meatingplace blog about a fateful day on May 29, 2017, when my wife and I jumped out of a flaming aircraft. What I didn’t write about in my blog is what happened the day before. It was a Sunday I will never forget, and a day I learned one of the most important lessons of my life.

Karma is real.

The weather was perfect in Minot, N.D., that Memorial Day weekend. My wife and I had flown our plane from Wisconsin to North Dakota to visit our son James. James graduated from the Air Force Academy in 2013, and was stationed in Minot, flying routine patrols in the UH-1N Twin Huey.

Since this was our first time visiting, James graciously volunteered to give us a tour of the airbase before we headed back to Wisconsin. On Sunday, May 28, 2017, we hopped into James’ car, and weaved our way through the Minot airbase toward the airfield and dated Air Force hangar where the Hueys are parked and maintained. As James explained the long history of the legacy hangar where his helicopters were parked, we passed a stunning and technologically glorious building standing proudly just feet from the tarmac. The building was clearly new, constructed of shiny metal, and faced with expansive floor to ceiling windows to showcase its beautiful cylindrical facade.

As we passed this impressive structure, I asked James, “For what purpose was this almost super hero-like building built?” After raising an eyebrow, James replied that the new building was constructed for the airfield fire department.

“What!!??” I proclaimed. The airport fire department?

Suddenly, images of 20-somethings (a/k/a “airport firefighters”) playing air hocky and video games all day long, at extreme taxpayer expense, filled my mind. “Why is it,” I asked with ire in my voice, “that they get a brand-new building with all the bells and whistles … when you [son Air Force Helicopter Pilot] have to work out of an old hangar that looks like it was constructed in the 1930s?” Feeling more resentment, I continued, “That’s bull****; when was the last time any of those kids [airport firefighters] actually responded to an airplane fire?” “Probably never,” I wrongfully concluded.

Fast forward exactly 24 hours. As Jess and I began accelerating for takeoff in our Cessna 182, Jess smelled something burning. Unfortunately, it was our plane.

And, waiting almost magically in their well-appointed airport firehouse, those kids jumped into action when the call came from Magic City Tower: “We have an aircraft on fire.”

Imagine my joy, and my extreme embarrassment when, as Jess and I escaped from, and then watched, our airplane burning on the runway, the lights of the airport fire engines breached the horizon. Rolling down the runway, three florescent yellow fire trucks and their crews arrived within moments, dousing our burning airplane with foam.

Engulfed in shame, I kicked myself for saying the awful things I had said the day before. Had I kept my mouth shut, perhaps our airplane wound never have almost exploded.

So, lesson learned. Karma is real.

As you fly into the New Year, be sure to treat everyone with kindness and respect. I know we will. And, like you, we look forward to the next 12 months surrounded by such amazing colleagues and friends.

Happy New Year to all!!!

Yep, karma is real

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