My father was a Russian linguist for the USAFSS stationed at Air station Pehsawar in the early 60's. He translated Russian chatter from Asiatic Russia to time launching of U2 and RB57 to spy on Russia. At that time in the 60's the Air Force allowed dependents to live at the air station. I was born at USAF Nuclear bomber airfield Sidi Slimane in Morocco, my birth certificate says Casablanca like all other AF brats born there. My father had to pay his own ticket from gliders at the London gliding club Dunstable Downs in slingsby tutors while stationed at Chicksands, to powered flight training at the Peshawar air port and soloed having to wait until stationed once again in the U.S. to get his first civilian ticket. He retired after 23 years and paid his own way up to multi-engine instructor by his retirment from NSA. He flew as a commercial cargo carrier and people hauler on the east coast being hired to fly federal congress personnel and FBI due to his NSA security rating and contracted to fly forward Russian dignitary delegations around the east coast because he spoke Russian. A pace maker grounded him when he was scheduled to go on his jet ride to gain that rating. Until I left home at 18, I flew with him several hundred hours a year whether I wanted to or not. He wanted to make a pilot out of me, didn't work out.
Vriacu you have some personal issues and are very abusive of this community as a habit.
No, I am not the least bit abusive, habitually or otherwise, and do not intend to be so (nor do I have any personal "issues"). The "community" could use a little coaching in that regard though, as Skuzzy has mentioned more than once. I think we all can afford to take a deep breath now and then, myself included.
I am very sorry for your personal issues at home. I guess you still have some affinity for airplanes though or you wouldn't be here.
My dad didn't force me to fly. He didn't have to. I was joined at the hip with him every time he went up. Yeah, I was scared every now and then--like when I noticed I could see the ground through the space where the bottom of the door wasn't completely sealed on our Tri-Pacer--as any kid would be at the thought of falling out of the sky, but I loved it any way.
It sounds like you had THE GREAT SANTINI living at home. That's a tough deal.