A bittersweet jet ride...

One June day, just 50 years ago, as I was serving my mandatory time in the French Air Force, I was asked to come to the Captain's office.

At the time, I happened to be in Solenzara, Corsica, where the squadron I was assigned to was stationed for target shooting over the Mediterranean Sea. The Captain tersely announced that my dad had passed away as per a cable he had just received from my Salon Air Base, near Marseilles.

Needless to say that I was both shocked and distraught, and didn't know how to react. He then told me that he could get me a ride on an air force jet trainer back to the Dijon Air Base a little over 200 miles away from my parents' place.

In less time than I could figure, I found myself fitted into a pressurized suit, helmeted and belted inside the jet cockpit.

We took off, flying over the picturesque island, I remember seeing some snow around Monte Cinto, and following a fast flight over the sea and the Alps, we landed in Dijon.

While I normally love to fly, I didn't fully enjoy that strange trip. From there, I hitch-hiked to my home where I got in the middle of the night, apprehending the situation I had been told about.

The front door was locked, which surprised me because I thought my mom might have expected me to come that night. I remember walking in the yard, under my parents' bedroom. My mom must have heard me and spoke to my Dad.

Elation followed confusion; I explained the reason for my being there. She said: “Dad is well!” The military had goofed up and got the names of two soldiers badly mixed up!