I took my 2 kids up in a Cessna 172 on Saturday afternoon to imbibe their father's passion of flying and let Mom go shopping for brown closed-toed sandels. I'll skip talk of the preflight...that was a joke. They couldn't tell the difference between a pitot tube and a static wick. The best was yet to come, though. My 4 year old legs couldn't reach the rudder pedals! I had to taxi the plane. Takeoff was fine but he couldn't hold altitude, heading or a constant airspeed. I finally had to take the controls from him. I whipped him into the back and pulled up my younger boy, who started whining about his sippy cup! After a stern lecture and a threat of tossing out his bear blanky, my younger boy took the yoke. He was no means a pilot cut from the loin of Whaleroast. He wouldn't flare, dropped his pacifier kept taking about Dora and the Backyardigans when he should have been concentrating on P-factor! And the radio calls...eh gods!
At the end of the day, I realized how good of a pilot I am.
By far the worse pilots I have flown with.