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| Encouraging more women and girls to have an interest in aviation... |
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Caitlyn:
I was first bitten with the flying bug when I was little, my head barely able to clear the low-
wing of my dad’s rented Piper Warrior. I can remember him taking my family and I out of what
was then little DuPage airport, Illinois, to grab one of those oh-so-good $100 hamburgers – I
guess it was a kid’s meal for me – at one of the nearby airport cafes. I’m sure the total flight
time was under an hour and the distance probably just as easy to drive, but everything was a
grand adventure back then. And for me, flying was no exception.
With the magic of those early-morning drives to the hangar, the tarmac still cool from the
previous night’s freeze, the stillness of the field broken only by the occasional ceremonial
declaration of “Clear prop!” from a few hangars down, and the captivating glint of the waking
sun off those towering metal blades I would soon learn were called propellers… well, that was
the moment I discovered why merely driving to that nearby café just wasn’t as fun.
I was enchanted, captivated, awestruck. Mostly, though, I was baffled. How on earth could
this big hunk of metal possibly share the sky with the birds? When we rotated and climbed
out, though, I didn’t care how – that curiosity came later – only that we were, indeed, flying!
Sometime later my father, when I had matured to the wise old age of five, let me take the
yoke for the first time. Apprehension and excitement took hold. Too afraid to do anything
drastic, I think I simply held the yoke in place (of course, my dad never told me the plane was
trimmed). Though I didn’t know what a private pilot’s license was at the time, somehow I think
I knew I needed whatever it was that could lift me off this earth.
In the years that followed, I became a little older, grew a little taller (though I still can’t see
over the dash of most GA planes without a seat adjustment!), and my curiosity only intensified
with age. The love of raising two children overcame my dad’s love of flying, and the $100
hamburger budget was soon reallocated to paying for school supplies, extracurricular
activities, and the bare necessities our family of four needed. Shortly thereafter, my dad was
forced to give up flying for good, as the modest income allotted for a humble carpenter, his
housewife, and two daughters simply wasn’t enough. When my mother couldn’t afford to buy
a single new article of clothing for the few years after I was born, flying was no longer an
option. And although my parents never regretted their decision to place their children before
themselves, I now lament that they were made to sacrifice something so precious as the gift of
flight. No one should have his or her wings clipped.
Although I was no longer blessed with the occasional visit with the clouds, I absorbed
everything related to aviation I possibly could like I was a sponge. Funds may have been tight
in my early years, but my parents somehow always found money for the little flight jacket seen
in the photo (which I still have prominently displayed in my room), books about planes,
astronaut costumes for Halloween, LEGO space shuttles, and model fighters. When flying
commercial, they always asked the pilot if I could visit the cockpit. Soon my collection of
American and United Airlines wings grew out of control. They made certain I excelled in school,
particularly in my favorite subjects, math and science. I even skipped over kindergarten into
first grade order to delve into the curriculum sooner. They encouraged me to join
extracurricular programs, like the astronomy club and the model rocket class – a class taken at
a local community college while still in elementary school. Not surprisingly, at the age of seven
or so I decided I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up. Sure, I knew this was the dream
of many kids my age, but I was sure that I had the right stuff. Of course, choosing to do
reports in grade school on Sally Ride and Chuck Yeager and meeting Jim Lovell, John Glenn,
and Captain Al Haynes only added fuel to the fire.
Taking part in the Young Eagles program (seen in another photo) at the age of ten was a
tease, like hanging a carrot in front of a donkey. What a blast! I couldn’t wait until I was old
enough to solo. Not being able to afford Space Camp was fine with me, as our move from
Illinois to Florida allowed me to watch shuttle launches from my back yard or from Cape
Canaveral, only a short drive away. At about the same age, I began to toy with the idea of
joining the military and becoming a fighter pilot. For some reason (maybe it was the tomboy in
me), I was drawn to fighters. I begged my parents to take me to air shows just to see the
Blue Angels, the Thunderbirds, the F-117, and my favorite, the F-14 Tomcat, to actually feel the
power of flight in my chest. As sexy and sleek as those aircraft were, though, I found myself
running immediately toward the overlooked general aviation aircraft once the tarmac was
opened to the public. My dad’s tastes had been imprinted on my own, something of which I
was quite proud.
High school began when I had barely turned thirteen. The highlight of some people’s lives
proved to be the most stressful time of mine. With a full load of AP classes, SATs, clubs,
community service, and sports, I had no time to devote toward aviation. I volunteered at Ft.
Lauderdale International Airport, played flight simulators until I fell asleep at the keyboard,
and gazed as airliners turn from downwind to base to final everyday over our school, but that
was all I could afford to do. In addition, during junior year I was disappointed to learn that I
could not fly a military bird because of my less-than-perfect eyesight – that is, without a major
surgery. Call me abnormal, but I had also hoped to have my pilot’s license by that time before
my I earned my driver’s license, and while most my age wanted a car for Christmas, I wanted
ground school lessons.
I needed something to quench my thirst for aviation. A Broward County Science Fair project on
wing warping (in a homebuilt wind tunnel) was a good start. I began to shift goals from
merely flying planes to understanding how and why they flew, and more significantly, to how I
could design them to fly more efficiently.
College was fast approaching, and the pressures of school nearly destroyed me, literally. After
junior year, the physical and mental stress culminated into one colossal monster about to rear
its ugly head. In a period of about a week, I went from a fully functioning (if not burnt out)
teenager to knocking on death’s door. I began to show extreme fatigue, weakness so much
so that I could not even lift the bedcovers off of me, terrible fevers, hair loss, anemia, loss of
appetite, tremors in my limbs, memory loss, aching of my entire body, rashes, sensitivity to the
sun, inflamed lungs and heart, mouth and nose ulcers, abrupt skin color changes, and near
kidney failure. After being turned away from one hospital – quite literally on the verge of
death – on the account that my father could not afford health insurance at that time, I was
finally admitted to Broward General. Though the illness was initially a mystery, I was at last
diagnosed with lupus, a genetic autoimmune disease.
The news crushed me. I was forced to forgo my senior year of high school, but promptly (and
eagerly) enrolled in Calculus I at the local Florida Atlantic University once I was able to walk
again some months later. One class was all I could handle at the time. The most devastating
implication, however, was how this new chapter of my life would affect my ability to pursue my
dreams in the field of aviation. I distinctly remember sitting in the oncology ward as my
chemotherapy was administered and asking my mother if my chances of piloting the space
shuttle had just been completely shattered. She didn’t have to respond, because I already
knew the answer was yes. Though I had already decided I wanted to give my heart to
aeronautics in lieu of astronautics, I was still devastated. What else couldn’t I do? Could I go
to school again, ride roller coasters, go to the beach… most importantly, could I ever get my
pilot’s license?
I am proud to say that three years later, I am one hundred percent healthy. No symptoms of
lupus have risen up from remission, and I can do all the aforementioned things and more. Yes,
I have faced adversity and I have come out on top, thanks to the love and support of family,
friends, and complete strangers. Yes, I have faced challenges, but nothing has stopped me
from living my dream. Quite plainly, I wanted to learn about planes. And that’s exactly what I
did.
My current home is the University of Southern California, where I fell in love with aerospace
engineering. Rewinding my life’s movie to back when I was too small to see over that wing, I
can now look back and say I’m living the dream I have wanted to live since I was three. Like
Bessie Coleman, the first female African-American pilot, “I refused to take no for an answer.” I
have completely and gloriously immersed myself in the aerospace community, from my Flight
Mechanics and Fluids classes to chats with members of industry. Even my boyfriend is a pilot (I
guess I got lucky!), having built his own RV-7 with his father. If there’s no other reason to get
my private pilot’s license, it’s simply to show him that women are better pilots than the male
species!
I’m also proud to be the captain of the Aerodynamics/Stability and Control sub-team on USC’s
AeroDesign Team (also pictured). Each year, we design, build, and fly an unmanned radio-
controlled aircraft for the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics (AIAA)
international competition. My job is to select the best possible airfoil for this year’s missions,
analyze the aerodynamic characteristics of the plane, stabilize the aircraft about all three axes
using various computer codes, and optimize it for performance. This coming April, we will fly
our design in Wichita, KS, against over fifty other teams from around the globe. The team has
even inspired me to take on the hobby of RC flying.
This past spring, I was honored to participate in the Sally Ride Science Festival. I finally met
the legend herself. Most rewarding of all, however, was my role as teacher to visiting young
girls. Ranging from five to fourteen years old, the impressionable young minds watched as I
taught them how to make paper airplanes and explained the fundamentals of flight. Some
were shy, others were too young to completely grasp the science behind it, but all were eager
to learn. That’s all that really matters, right? It was then my turn to watch with pride as they
created and flew their own. It amazed me how the paper gliders – something so small and
simple – absolutely electrified the girls, how their smiles stretched from ear to ear as they
realized that something they themselves created took to the skies – if only for a few seconds.
But then again, they were no different from myself years ago.
In the coming summer months, I hope to intern with Lockheed Martin in Palmdale, CA, with the
Skunk Works program. Having had the delight of visiting their plant twice and having seen the
development of the F-22, F-35, hybrid airships, and other cutting-edge projects, I know I need
to be on that edge. With any lucky, I will have a prolonged career with the Skunk Works,
where I will have the opportunity to not only bring more women to such a prestigious program,
but to also change the world from the ground up.
Though a pilot’s license has eluded me my entire life, I have vowed to achieve the goal I set
for myself over thirteen years ago. Whatever it takes – ground school at night or between
classes, flying only on the weekends, or skimping to save money – I’m prepared to go the
extra mile. All I ask is for some help in the first few yards.
At this stage of transition from girl to woman, I hope to be a role model and mentor to young
girls. In my third year of college, I am pleased to say that I have not dwelled on the fact that
our population in aviation is indeed miniscule, but instead concentrated on the growing
number of women in the industry. Aviation may be a field dominated by men today, but
women will unquestionably capture it tomorrow. We can be just as proficient at flying, if not
more so, as men. All we ladies need is a friendly push in the right direction and a little
encouragement to break those molds. With the help of Girls With Wings, I hope to be that
friend doing the pushing.
Through recent history, women have been gradually changing roles from passive observer to
active participant. Two brothers from Ohio may have founded aviation, but women have
reached some of the greatest heights in the flying world. No one could stop Emelia Earhart or
Patty Wagstaff. Ladies today need to be told that it’s okay, that it’s better than okay, to do
the things men do, to do what they love, to be the next Earhart or Wagstaff. As your website
rightly says, aviation can be used to “entertain and educate girls about their limitless
opportunities for personal growth.” It is something I have experienced and that I hope to
share with girls everywhere.
“Yes, girls can fly,” as your motto states. Yes, girls will fly.
I was first bitten with the flying bug when I was little, my head barely able to clear the low-
wing of my dad’s rented Piper Warrior. I can remember him taking my family and I out of what
was then little DuPage airport, Illinois, to grab one of those oh-so-good $100 hamburgers – I
guess it was a kid’s meal for me – at one of the nearby airport cafes. I’m sure the total flight
time was under an hour and the distance probably just as easy to drive, but everything was a
grand adventure back then. And for me, flying was no exception.
With the magic of those early-morning drives to the hangar, the tarmac still cool from the
previous night’s freeze, the stillness of the field broken only by the occasional ceremonial
declaration of “Clear prop!” from a few hangars down, and the captivating glint of the waking
sun off those towering metal blades I would soon learn were called propellers… well, that was
the moment I discovered why merely driving to that nearby café just wasn’t as fun.
I was enchanted, captivated, awestruck. Mostly, though, I was baffled. How on earth could
this big hunk of metal possibly share the sky with the birds? When we rotated and climbed
out, though, I didn’t care how – that curiosity came later – only that we were, indeed, flying!
Sometime later my father, when I had matured to the wise old age of five, let me take the
yoke for the first time. Apprehension and excitement took hold. Too afraid to do anything
drastic, I think I simply held the yoke in place (of course, my dad never told me the plane was
trimmed). Though I didn’t know what a private pilot’s license was at the time, somehow I think
I knew I needed whatever it was that could lift me off this earth.
In the years that followed, I became a little older, grew a little taller (though I still can’t see
over the dash of most GA planes without a seat adjustment!), and my curiosity only intensified
with age. The love of raising two children overcame my dad’s love of flying, and the $100
hamburger budget was soon reallocated to paying for school supplies, extracurricular
activities, and the bare necessities our family of four needed. Shortly thereafter, my dad was
forced to give up flying for good, as the modest income allotted for a humble carpenter, his
housewife, and two daughters simply wasn’t enough. When my mother couldn’t afford to buy
a single new article of clothing for the few years after I was born, flying was no longer an
option. And although my parents never regretted their decision to place their children before
themselves, I now lament that they were made to sacrifice something so precious as the gift of
flight. No one should have his or her wings clipped.
Although I was no longer blessed with the occasional visit with the clouds, I absorbed
everything related to aviation I possibly could like I was a sponge. Funds may have been tight
in my early years, but my parents somehow always found money for the little flight jacket seen
in the photo (which I still have prominently displayed in my room), books about planes,
astronaut costumes for Halloween, LEGO space shuttles, and model fighters. When flying
commercial, they always asked the pilot if I could visit the cockpit. Soon my collection of
American and United Airlines wings grew out of control. They made certain I excelled in school,
particularly in my favorite subjects, math and science. I even skipped over kindergarten into
first grade order to delve into the curriculum sooner. They encouraged me to join
extracurricular programs, like the astronomy club and the model rocket class – a class taken at
a local community college while still in elementary school. Not surprisingly, at the age of seven
or so I decided I wanted to be an astronaut when I grew up. Sure, I knew this was the dream
of many kids my age, but I was sure that I had the right stuff. Of course, choosing to do
reports in grade school on Sally Ride and Chuck Yeager and meeting Jim Lovell, John Glenn,
and Captain Al Haynes only added fuel to the fire.
Taking part in the Young Eagles program (seen in another photo) at the age of ten was a
tease, like hanging a carrot in front of a donkey. What a blast! I couldn’t wait until I was old
enough to solo. Not being able to afford Space Camp was fine with me, as our move from
Illinois to Florida allowed me to watch shuttle launches from my back yard or from Cape
Canaveral, only a short drive away. At about the same age, I began to toy with the idea of
joining the military and becoming a fighter pilot. For some reason (maybe it was the tomboy in
me), I was drawn to fighters. I begged my parents to take me to air shows just to see the
Blue Angels, the Thunderbirds, the F-117, and my favorite, the F-14 Tomcat, to actually feel the
power of flight in my chest. As sexy and sleek as those aircraft were, though, I found myself
running immediately toward the overlooked general aviation aircraft once the tarmac was
opened to the public. My dad’s tastes had been imprinted on my own, something of which I
was quite proud.
High school began when I had barely turned thirteen. The highlight of some people’s lives
proved to be the most stressful time of mine. With a full load of AP classes, SATs, clubs,
community service, and sports, I had no time to devote toward aviation. I volunteered at Ft.
Lauderdale International Airport, played flight simulators until I fell asleep at the keyboard,
and gazed as airliners turn from downwind to base to final everyday over our school, but that
was all I could afford to do. In addition, during junior year I was disappointed to learn that I
could not fly a military bird because of my less-than-perfect eyesight – that is, without a major
surgery. Call me abnormal, but I had also hoped to have my pilot’s license by that time before
my I earned my driver’s license, and while most my age wanted a car for Christmas, I wanted
ground school lessons.
I needed something to quench my thirst for aviation. A Broward County Science Fair project on
wing warping (in a homebuilt wind tunnel) was a good start. I began to shift goals from
merely flying planes to understanding how and why they flew, and more significantly, to how I
could design them to fly more efficiently.
College was fast approaching, and the pressures of school nearly destroyed me, literally. After
junior year, the physical and mental stress culminated into one colossal monster about to rear
its ugly head. In a period of about a week, I went from a fully functioning (if not burnt out)
teenager to knocking on death’s door. I began to show extreme fatigue, weakness so much
so that I could not even lift the bedcovers off of me, terrible fevers, hair loss, anemia, loss of
appetite, tremors in my limbs, memory loss, aching of my entire body, rashes, sensitivity to the
sun, inflamed lungs and heart, mouth and nose ulcers, abrupt skin color changes, and near
kidney failure. After being turned away from one hospital – quite literally on the verge of
death – on the account that my father could not afford health insurance at that time, I was
finally admitted to Broward General. Though the illness was initially a mystery, I was at last
diagnosed with lupus, a genetic autoimmune disease.
The news crushed me. I was forced to forgo my senior year of high school, but promptly (and
eagerly) enrolled in Calculus I at the local Florida Atlantic University once I was able to walk
again some months later. One class was all I could handle at the time. The most devastating
implication, however, was how this new chapter of my life would affect my ability to pursue my
dreams in the field of aviation. I distinctly remember sitting in the oncology ward as my
chemotherapy was administered and asking my mother if my chances of piloting the space
shuttle had just been completely shattered. She didn’t have to respond, because I already
knew the answer was yes. Though I had already decided I wanted to give my heart to
aeronautics in lieu of astronautics, I was still devastated. What else couldn’t I do? Could I go
to school again, ride roller coasters, go to the beach… most importantly, could I ever get my
pilot’s license?
I am proud to say that three years later, I am one hundred percent healthy. No symptoms of
lupus have risen up from remission, and I can do all the aforementioned things and more. Yes,
I have faced adversity and I have come out on top, thanks to the love and support of family,
friends, and complete strangers. Yes, I have faced challenges, but nothing has stopped me
from living my dream. Quite plainly, I wanted to learn about planes. And that’s exactly what I
did.
My current home is the University of Southern California, where I fell in love with aerospace
engineering. Rewinding my life’s movie to back when I was too small to see over that wing, I
can now look back and say I’m living the dream I have wanted to live since I was three. Like
Bessie Coleman, the first female African-American pilot, “I refused to take no for an answer.” I
have completely and gloriously immersed myself in the aerospace community, from my Flight
Mechanics and Fluids classes to chats with members of industry. Even my boyfriend is a pilot (I
guess I got lucky!), having built his own RV-7 with his father. If there’s no other reason to get
my private pilot’s license, it’s simply to show him that women are better pilots than the male
species!
I’m also proud to be the captain of the Aerodynamics/Stability and Control sub-team on USC’s
AeroDesign Team (also pictured). Each year, we design, build, and fly an unmanned radio-
controlled aircraft for the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics (AIAA)
international competition. My job is to select the best possible airfoil for this year’s missions,
analyze the aerodynamic characteristics of the plane, stabilize the aircraft about all three axes
using various computer codes, and optimize it for performance. This coming April, we will fly
our design in Wichita, KS, against over fifty other teams from around the globe. The team has
even inspired me to take on the hobby of RC flying.
This past spring, I was honored to participate in the Sally Ride Science Festival. I finally met
the legend herself. Most rewarding of all, however, was my role as teacher to visiting young
girls. Ranging from five to fourteen years old, the impressionable young minds watched as I
taught them how to make paper airplanes and explained the fundamentals of flight. Some
were shy, others were too young to completely grasp the science behind it, but all were eager
to learn. That’s all that really matters, right? It was then my turn to watch with pride as they
created and flew their own. It amazed me how the paper gliders – something so small and
simple – absolutely electrified the girls, how their smiles stretched from ear to ear as they
realized that something they themselves created took to the skies – if only for a few seconds.
But then again, they were no different from myself years ago.
In the coming summer months, I hope to intern with Lockheed Martin in Palmdale, CA, with the
Skunk Works program. Having had the delight of visiting their plant twice and having seen the
development of the F-22, F-35, hybrid airships, and other cutting-edge projects, I know I need
to be on that edge. With any lucky, I will have a prolonged career with the Skunk Works,
where I will have the opportunity to not only bring more women to such a prestigious program,
but to also change the world from the ground up.
Though a pilot’s license has eluded me my entire life, I have vowed to achieve the goal I set
for myself over thirteen years ago. Whatever it takes – ground school at night or between
classes, flying only on the weekends, or skimping to save money – I’m prepared to go the
extra mile. All I ask is for some help in the first few yards.
At this stage of transition from girl to woman, I hope to be a role model and mentor to young
girls. In my third year of college, I am pleased to say that I have not dwelled on the fact that
our population in aviation is indeed miniscule, but instead concentrated on the growing
number of women in the industry. Aviation may be a field dominated by men today, but
women will unquestionably capture it tomorrow. We can be just as proficient at flying, if not
more so, as men. All we ladies need is a friendly push in the right direction and a little
encouragement to break those molds. With the help of Girls With Wings, I hope to be that
friend doing the pushing.
Through recent history, women have been gradually changing roles from passive observer to
active participant. Two brothers from Ohio may have founded aviation, but women have
reached some of the greatest heights in the flying world. No one could stop Emelia Earhart or
Patty Wagstaff. Ladies today need to be told that it’s okay, that it’s better than okay, to do
the things men do, to do what they love, to be the next Earhart or Wagstaff. As your website
rightly says, aviation can be used to “entertain and educate girls about their limitless
opportunities for personal growth.” It is something I have experienced and that I hope to
share with girls everywhere.
“Yes, girls can fly,” as your motto states. Yes, girls will fly.
