The Day Grandma Became a Flyboy
A Day at the Flying Circus in Bealeton, Virginia
Back in the mid-1980s we all piled into the car and headed down to Bealeton, Virginia, to see the Flying Circus Airshow. I was riding alongside my mother and my grandparents. Grandma with her ever-present sense of occasion and quiet poise. Grandaddy with his steady, no-nonsense demeanor. He was the kind of man who still called gas stations “service stations” and never left home without exact change in his pocket. Mama as excited as a kid and anticipating a good time.
Biplanes, Popcorn and a Whisper of the Past
The airfield was just what the name promised: a throwback to barnstorming days. There were biplanes doing loops, rolls, and dives that made you clutch your gut just watching from the ground. It smelled like popcorn and oil and something old-fashioned that I couldn’t quite place. There were even guys walking around in leather flying caps and aviator jackets like it was still 1938.
The Flying Circus was offering biplane rides with a former WWII pilot, and the daredevil in me was instantly onboard. First, I tried to talk my grandfather into going up. I thought it might stir something in him. Maybe some memory of youth or thrill or even just the itch to do something a little outrageous. But he shook his head, not even tempted.
“Not worth the money,” he muttered, more to the air than to me.
That was Granddaddy. Born in 1910, old-school in the way that meant you didn’t waste gas, smiles, or compliments unless you had to. I didn’t take it personally. He had a tight wallet and a tighter worldview. But I’d also seen him walk around antique steam engine shows holding Grandma’s hand. And plying her with Reuben Sandwiches and clam chowder at various restaurants. So, there was some softness in there.
My Ride with a WWII Pilot
Anyway, I pulled out my charge card—those glorious little plastic rectangles that whispered freedom in your twenties—and bought my ticket. The Flying Circus biplane ride in Bealeton was everything I hoped it would be. Wind in my face, the thrum of the engine, the patchwork fields of Virginia rolling out below like a quilt sewn by a favorite aunt. I felt like Amelia Earhart. I made up my mind I wouldn’t be the only one in our party to fly that day.
Breaking the Mold: My Mother’s First Flight
When we landed, I looked over at my mother, who had never been on a plane. On impulse, I asked if she wanted to go up. Not for one minute, did I expect her to. The year before, she wouldn’t even get on the Ferris Wheel with me in Atlantic City. Said she knew what I would do, because I was just like my father. I’d wait until we got up high and then rock the seat back and forth. Her prediction had puzzled me at the time because that thought had never entered my mind.
But on this day, she surprised me.
“Yes!” she said, without hesitation, like she’d been waiting all her life for someone to ask. I laid my card down again, proud of her and looking forward to the experience it would give her, and me too.
Up she went, and she came down with this grin—part childlike glee, part “what else have I been missing out on?” I swear she stood taller as she made a jaunty walk back from that plane.
Permission, Pride and a Perfect Moment
Then I turned to Grandma.
“Do you want to go up?” I asked.
Her eyes flicked to Granddaddy. A pause. It was automatic, and a little heartbreaking. Was she waiting for his blessing or his wallet, or both? I didn’t know. But I had already decided: this one’s on me. If she wants to go, she’s going.
He shook his head. Not rudely. Just… firm. Final.
The Look that Changed Everything
I caught the look on her face. A definite letdown, but polite. Always polite.
That’s when I started mentally weighing the situation: If I put my card down anyway, and the flight doesn’t go well…that’s a line item I didn’t want on my life’s list. I also didn’t want to make some feminist gesture out of it and humiliate Grandaddy. That’s not how Grandma rolled. She was subtle and patient. She had her own way of winning. However, I also asked myself, “who is he to tell her she can’t go?”
But, most of all, there was that look on her face.
I pulled out my card and headed to the ticket table.
Grandaddy surprised us all when he nearly mowed me down to get there first. He pulled out his own wallet—creased and overstuffed—and laid down cash.
Grandma blinked.
Grandma’s Big Moment
The next thing I knew, she was suited up in one of those leather flying caps with the tight chin strap, glass goggles, and a long white scarf that looked ready to trail dramatically behind her in the sky.
She looked so small in that cockpit. Not scared, just…contained. Like a question mark about to uncurl into an exclamation point.
They took off, engine sputtering and wings rattling with confidence. We watched from the field, shading our eyes, tracking the plane like a speck in the sky.
The Trees, the Elbow, and the Smile I’ll Never Forget
When they landed, they taxied by us. Grandma had one elbow propped up on the side of the seat like she’d been flying solo sorties since D-Day. She had a smile on her face, casual and cocky, like maybe she knew something the rest of us didn’t. It was priceless!
When she stepped down from the plane, she wasn’t the same woman who had looked to her husband for permission 15 minutes earlier.
“I’ve never seen so many trees at one time,” she said, adjusting the scarf like a veteran.
I looked for Grandaddy’s reaction. He just gave this little nod, like, Okay. That just happened. And maybe he knew he’d lost some quiet argument he hadn’t meant to start.
That day is hard to forget. I’ve forgotten birthdays, appointments, and promises but not that cocky smile on Grandma’s face or the way she held that elbow.
And if I ever forget it… well, that’ll be the day I’m not myself anymore.
A Tribute to the Pilot
Our pilot that day was “John E, King”, and the plane was his 1939 WACO UPF-7, pictured at the top of this post. John was a WWII Naval Aviator, Airline Pilot, and one of the founding members of the Flying Circus. While “Grampa King” passed away many years ago, his WACO continues to be flown in the airshow as it was handed down: Father->Son->Grandson.
© 2025 Terry Housel. All rights reserved.
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