Sometimes the most important gifts are given unwittingly. I set about
checking the instruments in preparation for my last flight of the day, a short hop from
Atlanta to Macon, Ga. It was 7:30 P.M. Christmas Eve, but instead of forking into Mom's
turkey dinner, I was busy getting other people home to their families.

Above the low buzz of talking passengers, I heard a rustle behind me. I
looked over my shoulder. Just outside the cockpit doorway was a fresh-faced boy of about
nine gazing intently at the flight deck. At my glance he started to turn away.

"Hold up," I called. "Come on in here." I had been about his age when I
first saw a flight panel lit up like a Christmas tree and I could hardly wait to get my
pilot's wings. But now that I was 24 and first officer at a commuter airline, I
wondered if I'd made the right choice. Here I was spending my first Christmas Eve away from home, and what was I accomplishing? How was I making my mark in the world,
let alone doing God's work, just hauling people from city to city?

The boy stepped cautiously into the cockpit.
"My name's Chad," I said, sticking out my hand.
With a shy smile he put his hand in mine. "I'm Sam." He turned to the empty
seat beside me. "Is that for the captain?"

"It sure is and that's where Captain Jim sits." I patted the worn fabric.
"Would you like to try it out?"

Sam blinked at me from under his ball cap. "I don't know . . . I mean . . .
well, sure if it's okay." I lowered the seat so he could slide into it. The captain
loved to give demonstrations of the plane's gadgets to kids, but what would he think about
one sitting in his seat? Well, it's Christmas, I thought.

I glanced out at the luggage carts being wheeled toward the plane, thinking
of the gifts I wouldn't be able to give in person to my parents and friends the next
day. Sam told me he and his family had flown in from Memphis. I checked my watch.
The captain would be in any minute, but Sam looked so thrilled, I didn't want
to cut short his fun. I gave the instrument panel another once-over, telling Sam
what each button and lever did.

Finally Captain Jim clambered aboard. "Howdy, partner." He gave Sam a broad
grin. "You know, son," he drawled, "I don't mind you staying with us for a
while if you'll switch with me." Sam let the captain take his place and I made introductions.

We began previewing the startup checklist. I kept thinking the captain would
send Sam away, but the boy was still peering over my shoulder when the ramp agent
radioed to ask if we were ready to turn on the first engine in start
sequence, number four.

I relayed the question to the captain, who was studying the weather reports.
"I'm still going over these," he said. "You guys go ahead and start it."

"Okay, starting . . ."I said, positioning the switches. Then I did a double
take. "Did you say 'you guys'?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

I looked over at the captain, and back at the flight panel. "Right." I
flicked on the plane's flashing red beacon to signal the start.

Then I turned to my new assistant.

"You ever start an airplane before, Sam?"

Eyes wide, he shook his head. Following my instructions, Sam carefully
turned a knob on the overhead console that switched on the igniters. Then he pressed
a button as big as his hand to start the engine. Finally, with both hands he
slid forward a lever to introduce the fuel. The engine hummed to life.

Sam slowly let go of the lever and stepped back, awestruck. He'd gotten to
start an airplane, an honest-to-goodness airliner. I'm not sure if I'd have believed
it myself at his age. I thanked Sam for helping us out.

"No, thank you, sir," Sam said. "This was really great!"

As he backed out of the doorway into the cabin, the plane resonated with the
sound of the engine he'd started. "You have a merry Christmas, son, you hear?"