Cadets may appreciate this poem. THE MILITARY AVIATOR > > I think I've known a million lads, > Who say they love the sky; > Who'd all be aviators, > And not afraid to fly! > > For Duty, Honor, Country, > Their courage I admire! > But it takes more than courage, son, > To get to be a flyer. > > When you are only twelve years old > Of course you want to fly! > and tho' you know not what is Death, > You're not afraid to die. > > But of the million, more or less, > All must have perfect eyes; > So only half a million now, > Can dream of future skies. > > Then comes high school, science, math; > Some choose the easy way: > Football, cars, and dating girls; > Teen pleasures hold their sway. > > And of the quarter million left, > One half go on to schools; > The other half will dream and drift, > And never learn the rules. > > Now comes the day of testing, > Eight hours of Stanine Hell; > On every subject known to man, > Four-fifths will not do well. > > The one in five who pass this test > Apply for flying schools, > The Application Boards will now > Eliminate the fools. > > Then comes two days of nakedness, > Flight Surgeons poke and prod; > To pass this Flying Physical > One needs to be a God! > > And now, five hundred lucky souls > Will start their Pre-Flight days; > Endure demerits, hunger, cold, > As upperclassmen haze. > > One-half survive this mental game, > And go to Primary schools, > But only half will hack the course, > Move on to Basic rules. > > Two hundred fifty now will try > To pass those Basic tests; > Formation flight soon separates, > The "tiger" from the rest. > > One hundred twenty-five will then > Pin on those pilot wings; > The best become 'Top Gun' jocks; > The rest fly other things. > > Some will die while learning those > Essential combat skills; > Some will die in combat, > Some will score their "kills." > > But they have learned a lesson, > Sometimes lost on you and me; > We must always fight for Freedom, > Because Freedom's never free! > > He's a knight in shining armor, > That the cruel tyrants fear; > He's that deadly drop of venom > On the tip of Freedom's spear. > > Engaging him in battle is a course > That only fools would choose; > He's the world's fiercest warrior, > For he has the most to lose. > > So when you see that aviator, > Standing at the bar; > Taking out the garbage, > Or tuning up his car. > > You'd best walk up and offer him > Your thanks, extend your hand; > He's that rare "one in a million" > Who Protects this sacred land. (Author, Unknown