My dad was born with a non-functional hip, so as an infant, they took part of his ankle and made him a hip. This was in the 1920's, they used ether on him and he said he remembered almost dying.
When he retired, he took flying lessons. I got to ride "co-pilot" in the little Cessna his instructor would rent to him. He only kept it up for a few years due to the cost, but he really loved flying, and I loved flying with him.
Anyway, after he died my mother said something that really struck me: "He can finally run." I suddenly realized what flying meant to him. I had never thought of him as five year old boy, unable to run. That "joystick" on his plane could not have been more aptly named.
Thanks for making me remember those times.
This is the article that got my posting privileges revoked: