‘Blue and yellow, not a great color combination, but it worked.’ His hand made languid strokes as he colored the model plane. ‘Viola! Now it’s done. This was how your old man’s machine looked.’

‘Wow! I like the colors, Dad. Can you paint my name on the side?’

‘You have to earn your spurs, kiddo. We had to prove that we were the best darned pilots around to be entrusted with such a magnificent machine. Only then did they assign a plane and allow our names to be painted on the side.’

‘What should I do to earn my spurs, Dad?’

‘You can start by eating your cereals without making a fuss.’ He grabbed his son and started tickling, ‘and by getting out of the grasp of the tickle monster…’

Their laughter filled the air.

He paints his son’s name on the model plane, still hanging over his bed. He clasps The Air Force Cross awarded posthumously to his son, and breaks down.

His son sure did earn his spurs.

Word Count: 167

Written for FFfAW week 167, hosted by Priceless Joy. This week’s prompt is from Yinglan. Thanks, PJ and Yinglan.




  1. How sad! Thank goodness he has this memory and the plane to help him heal.
    You did a great job with these contrasting emotions.


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