The kid had said "I wanna fly with Greg" on the ground, in fact had been adamant about that fact. She was pretty pleased when it worked out that she was going to get to ride in the open-cockpit Ercoupe with the goof-ball character who'd done her ground-school, but now, as we rotated for take off it was "Ize scared."

"You're okay, there's nothing to worry about," I said, trying to be reassuring.

Sometimes that works. Nine in ten times. Not this time. It was followed by "Oh my God I wanna go back down." It was a bit late for that idea.

"Okay, but we have to fly around in a little circle to get back," I answered.

I was starting to feel sorry for myself. My first Young Eagles flight of the day, and it was my luck to get one of the tough ones. In fact, this one was like as not to puke all over my nice neat interior. My first barfer. Oh, well.

She sure wasn't going to win any 'pretty baby' contests.  From the inner city, the kind of place I can't even be persuaded to drive through at high noon, she had a big chip out of a front tooth that nobody apparently had the resources or the thought to fix.  Someone had been feeding her the wrong stuff and too damned much of it. No doubt on top of the school lunch program.

She'd been shipped off to a summer camp for inner-city kids run by a prep school that needed to show its students how the other half lives and in the process make up for its existence as a religious institution where charity begins mainly at home. Probably because there's no school-lunch program in the summer.

I'd obviously left my left-wing, liberal, right-thinking halo at home this morning. Either that or I'd locked it in the car, and needed to go look for it after the flight. I wasn't sure which.

I looked over. Her eyes were scrunched shut. 'Great,' I thought, 'next comes motion sickness.' I was getting annoyed that I didn't catch a break and get one of the pretty little Harlem roses that say 'oh cool' as soon as the wheels leave the tarmac.

"Hey there, you need to open your eyes" I said, hoping to avert mal-de-aire. They opened a little, then slammed shut.

"Come on, open those peepers!" I said, hoping to sound up-beat.

"Can you close the sides?" she asked. I hate to fly with the windows shut, but okay. We brought them most of the way up, and she admitted that it was a good compromise.

"Hey, this is fun," she said and I felt a glimmer of hope.

Little morning bump. She gloms onto my arm. "Ize scared."

"That's okay, there are little bumps in the air just like on the road. Don't worry. And open your eyes again." We leveled off at 2000 MSL. Well, maybe I won't go right back after all.

"What river is that?" I asked, pointing down to the Delaware.

"Every time I look down, I get scared."

'Oh, hell's bells,' I thought silently.  'Grow up.'

"This is fun," she said.

Okay, she's going to drive me nuts. I could see the headline:  'Young Eagles Pilot Goes Nuts, Begins Eating Grass Between Runway and Taxiway.'

"Do we have to go back right now?" she asked.

'Lovely child' I thought while saying, "No, we have a little time if you're having fun." Shallow turns. 20 degree bank, with warning before each. I began to believe I might live through this with my clothing free of regurgitated camp food.

"This is fun," she said again.

'Cool' I think. 'Two in a row.'  And she wants to fly more. I managed to work out a way to make the 270-degree turn back to the airport in a 15-degree bank while not taking up the entire state of New Jersey doing it. I was having serious questions about the pattern.

Somehow, with lots of warning and explaining, we got through a power reduction and the turns without a major panic. Extreme concentration and quiet morning air made the landing real pretty, too. I opened the windows on roll-out.

"That was the most fun I've ever had in my whole life," says she.

'She has to be kidding, I thought' but said "I'm really glad you enjoyed it."

As we taxied back to the staging area, she said, "Up to today I really really wanted to go back home right away, but now I want to stay at camp!"

Okay, my day was now made.  We parked the bird and stepped out. I needed a wee bit of a break. I told all her friends how brave she'd been. They noted gleefully that her hair now stuck straight up like Alfalfa's. It was probably going to be that way for a week. She thought it was pretty neat, and was proud of a sort of battle scar.

Suddenly this tubby little inner-city kid with the chipped tooth and the mussed-up hair, who'd never had so much fun in her life and now wanted to stay at camp was the most beautiful kid in the world.

And I was ready to fight anyone who'd say different.