I was living in Denver, Colorado at the time, trying to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life. I was beginning to realize that marketing was not my calling. The phone rang, strange because I was usually at work on Monday. It was the afternoon of July 12, 1993. The phone was what they now call a "land line," the kind that attached to the wall. Mobile phones were not commonplace like they are now, crazy when you stop to consider the changes in life over the past 24 years. My mother was on the other line. I vaguely recall being confused about why she was calling. They couldn't be home yet. My father was a private pilot. They were flying their Piper Cherokee Six aircraft home to Jackson, Wyoming after visiting my sister and I in Denver. I remember how excited my dad was when he finished his solo flight and became a pilot. He loved to fly. I have many fond memories of flying with my family to Salt Lake City, UT for school shopping trips. It was a small propeller plane that sat only 6 people, but is was cool and the trips were memorable. I recall the early morning lift offs and the amazing scenery that kids usually don't appreciate. We mainly liked that the trip was an hour and a half compared to five and a half driving. The plane was very loud, so we used Walkmans with earphones so we could listen to our cassette tapes. I can't remember the last time I was in that plane. It was extremely convenient for them to come visit us.
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