My father is responsible for my love of planes.
Every Sunday morning, and some weeknights in the summer, he'd take me off to Dublin Airport and we'd watch planes.
I can still remember standing at the railings at Runway 23 and watching the old Aer Lingus 1-11's (without the hush-kits!) and 737s taking off.
I used to look down towards the terminal from where we stood and you would see the nose of the next aircraft creeping around the corner. And I'd have to guess what it was.
The elation of seeing the nose of the 747 coming around, and the unique sound of it's engines as it lumbered into the air at around midday each Sunday.
And then the scream of the 707s with their four trails of smoke, making it possible to follow them for miles and miles.
The smell too will stay with me forever. There's something lovely about it - although for my money the odour is a little different now.
Then came those wonderful nights when my relatives were going on holidays to Spain or Greece and I would get to go inside the airport and see them off.
Everything in Dublin Airport fascinated me as a child - the observation deck, the arrivals and departures board, the different signs and all the ticket counters with different airline names on them - made me want to see the world.
And then my dad would tip me on and shoulder and say "Look over there!" and I'd see a Captain, First Officer, maybe a Flight Engineer and cabin crew all walking together and I would just stand there awestruck.........a classic time, aviation in the seventies.
Now, I'm on my way to a right seat God willing........thanks Dad!