Plant a seed

Two years ago, in the late spring, I planted two banyan trees in my back yard. Each was roughly nine inches tall when they went into the ground. Today, they’re taller than I am. Maybe seven feet or so. They’re growing.

If I’m fortunate enough to still be walking the planet in 20 years, I look forward to enjoying the shade from those two trees. They should be 40 feet tall or more by then. Eventually, they’ll stretch 100 feet above the ground, providing shade and a sweet aroma to whomever lives in my house then.

Their real purpose is to stand as a pair of powerful windbreaks against hurricane-force winds coming off the lake behind the house.

What’s fascinating about banyan trees is they can move. I don’t mean they sway in the breeze. Pretty much any tree can do that. No, banyans can actually relocate themselves over time. Tendrils creep down from the tree’s branches. If those woody explorers reach the ground they take root, forming an additional trunk. The tree expands its footprint, straying into new territory.

Dick Pope, the founder of Cypress Gardens, which was the first modern amusement park in Florida, planted a banyan tree in the 1930s. Today that tree is massive, pressing up into the sky, stretching its limbs wide, providing ever greater respite from the heat of the mid-day sun. New branches beget new trunks and the tree continues to expand and move into new ground.

That’s all well and good, you might say. But what do banyan trees have to do with aviation?

More than you might think, dear reader.

Those two modest trees are a metaphor for human growth and beneficial exploration into new areas of endeavor. They were so short when first planted I had to erect barriers around them to keep the lawn mower from accidentally cutting their lives short. Their current status suggests success, but only a hint of what they may one day become.

At the same time I was planting the banyan nubs, I was mentoring a group of high school students. The metaphor continues.

Not one kid came from a family with an aeronautical connection. Few had any personal experience with aviation at any level. None had ever piloted an airplane. None had ever pulled the cowling to reveal an engine underneath. Most of them were still under the impression that an adjustable wrench was a wonder tool that took the place of all other wrenches.

They had a lot to learn.

Thankfully, the majority of them made the effort. They tried. When it was hot, they showed up in the hangar anyway. When the rain flooded the structure, they pushed it out again. When an unusual winter cold snap enveloped the peninsula of Florida, they came out to work — many of them wearing shorts and thin shirts, because many Floridians don’t own winter attire. As a result of their efforts and their experiences, they grew. Their confidence was enhanced. Their competence to tackle new, unfamiliar tasks increased.

Many of these kids had been told by some well-meaning individual that they were ill suited for a life in aviation. Although they were still teenagers, some had been told they’d waited too long to get started. Some were led to believe they were somehow physically deficient, or not smart enough, or from the wrong background.

All of that is crap, of course. But when an adult in a position of authority confidently shares their opinion with a teenager, on some level the teen believes that information to be true. And so, dreams are crushed, plans are changed, and futures are redirected by people who have no idea what they’re talking about.

Human nature abhors embarrassment. Many adults are reticent to let a kid know they aren’t the fount of all knowledge. So, when asked a question they don’t know the answer to, they lie. A little white lie. A well-intentioned lie. A lie informed by nothing more accurate than the liar’s imagination.

Today, as my banyans grow, those kids have gone on to college and work. Several are pilots today, even though they’d been told they didn’t have what it takes. At least one went to fly for the military. Another took the maintenance route there. A couple are actively employed at aviation businesses, one is earning his A&P certificate through experience while being paid a reasonable hourly wage at a famous flight school. Several of them will have no debt and years of experience when they get their FAA tickets.

They are way ahead of the crowd. As they deserve to be. They’ve earned their successes.

That cohort of young hopefuls became actively motivated to strive for more. One even became an Air Traffic Controller. That sounds like success to me.

My time spent mentoring was worth the effort. It changed their lives for the better every bit as much as it benefited mine.

Now, to complete the metaphor, it’s worth knowing that my banyans came from seeds dropped by a tree Thomas Edison planted in 1925. Edison’s tree was a mere sapling no more than four feet tall back them. Today it covers a space larger than a football field.

I don’t know exactly how successful my young charges will become in the long run. But they’re on their way after zigging and zagging their way around the barriers the world was trying to throw up in front of them. I simply showed them a door they could walk through if they chose to.

In essence, I planted a seed, nurtured it for a time with intention and care, then let it grow at its own pace, in its own way.

Anyone could do that. In the garden, or at the airport, or with students from your local high school or college. Certainly, you have the time and the talent to do the same. The only real question is will you?