These are the life moments when you’re about to start an entirely new adventure or journey and you have great expectations but extremely limited knowledge of how the new journey will end.

Here’s my first one. I’m a street kid from Flushing, Queens, NY. It’s 1961. I just graduated from Brooklyn College with a Bachelors degree in French. Just what you need to prepare for a career as an officer in the United States Air Force.
I was a Distinguished Military Graduate and commissioned 2nd Lieutenant from Brooklyn College Air Force ROTC. Not a mecca of military prowess, like West Point or even The Citadel of South Carolina.

I had orders to report to James Connally AFB, Waco, Texas for Navigator Training, a ten-month assignment.
Several of my college friends accompanied me to JFK International Airport for my flight to Waco.
When I got on that commercial flight to Dallas, TX, the only stop before a final hop-skip to Waco, I was leaving the chaotic, sometimes unfriendly, but always exciting world of the largest city in the US.
I was heading to a tiny city in a big western or southern state, which I knew nothing about.
Waco, Texas. As I climbed down from the little low and slow DC-3 aircraft I rode in on from Dallas, I was amazed to see the sky came all the way to the ground as I turned 360 degrees. Not like New York. (Irony Alert:  about nine years later, I flew over 100 Viet Nam combat missions in the C-47, the military version of that same DC-3)

I was also surprised when strangers actually spoke to me. Howdy. How’s it goin? Etc. (Not exactly like New Yawk) I needed to make my way to James Connally AFB, just 20 minutes away, where I was to be stationed for the next 10 months to earn my coveted navigator wings.
That was the beginning of a 30-year career in the US Air Force, and a rather scary, wonderful moment.

Here’s another one. It’s only three years later. I’m an honest-to- goodness Air Force Navigator. I’m at the Charleston AFB Chapel, standing near the altar with my good friend, Scotty. (yeah, he was my Best Man)
I look toward the rear of the chapel and see a large “EXIT” sign above the rear door. (Scary). The door opens and I see the most beautiful lady in the world come in with her dad. The chapel is full of my best friends from New York, (all 6 of them) looking all swarthy and Mob-esque. On my southern belle fiancée, Marjorie’s side, all the lovely ladies are in pastel colors and all the young men are clean cut and Walton-esque. (more than 6)

OMG. I’m gettin married! The first day of over 60 years and counting. Yes, a wonderful, scary moment.

My final scary, not so wonderful, moment occurred about five years later. Summer, 1969. A large commercial jet, contracted by the Air Force, lands at Tan Son Nhut AB, Republic of Vietnam.
I deplane with about 100 other nervous passengers. My sponsor officer meets me and hands me a flak jacket. He says, “Put it on.” He also asks, “What’s your DEROS?” I don’t remember exactly what that acronym stands for, but it’s your date of return to the US.
I said, “August, 1970”. He retorted, “If my DEROS was August, 1970, I’d slit my wrists.” I said, ”Really, what’s yours?” He answered. “June, 1970 “. LOL
That was my first day of 365 in Vietnam. I returned home safely in about a year after over 100 combat missions and only one rocket attack.
My life has been chock full of “wonderful, scary moments.” These are three that jumped out at me for this story. More later. Enuf