✈️ Wings Earned: The Day It All Became Worth It

The Last Hurdle

Graduation from Undergraduate Pilot Training (UPT) isn’t handed to you. It’s earned, sortie by sortie, mistake by mistake, lesson by lesson.

For 21 months, we braved tornadoes, ice storms, fog that swallowed whole runways, and scorching summer heat that made the cockpit feel like an oven. We flew when the weather was perfect and when it was the furthest thing from it.

The final phase — T-1 Jayhawk training — had been a grind of mission planning, crew coordination, and cross-country sorties that tested not just our flying skills, but our ability to think, communicate, and make split-second decisions with a team.

There was one last checkride to complete.
One more chance to prove everything we’d learned.

My palms were sweating as I strapped into the T-1 for that final evaluation.
We ran the checklists, called for takeoff, and pointed the nose down the runway.
I knew the maneuvers, I knew the flows, but that didn’t stop my heart from hammering as we lifted off.

Every callout was clear.
Every turn was crisp.
The approaches were clean, we flew what trainees called the Chattanooga Special, and it went perfectly.

After landing and taxiing back, my evaluator gave me a nod and said, “How do you think you did?” As any person with imposter syndrome, I immediately thought I failed, but stuttered out an, “ok, I guess.”

After nearly half an hour, he stood up and shook my hand, and said, “Congratulations.”
I was going to get my wings.

Drop Night: The Big Reveal

If there’s one moment that every UPT student dreams about, it’s Drop Night.
It’s where all the sweat, late-night studying, and countless checkrides culminate — the night you find out which aircraft you’ll be flying and where you’ll be stationed.

From the first day of training, it’s a competition among peers. You’re all pushing each other, but in the end, you’re ranked. Your performance in every flight, every simulator, and every academic test gets weighed.

And finally, it’s time to see how you stack up.

In normal times, Drop Night is a wild celebration — everyone packed into the club on base, families flown in to be part of the moment, and a camaraderie you can’t find anywhere else.

But during COVID-19, nothing was normal.

Instead of gathering together, we were in separate rooms on base, linked through Zoom.

Our families watched from afar on small screens. We couldn’t celebrate shoulder to shoulder. We couldn’t throw our arms around each other when our names were called.

My turn came.

I heard my name over the speakers, it was my turn to hear the unhinged observation of my follies in pilot training. The highlights, and the moments we messed everything up. I was sitting there in the hot seat, sweating, and then the words I’d been hoping for:

“C-17s to Joint Base Charleston, South Carolina.”

It was an odd moment. It was one of the loudest moments of my life, but at the same time it was oddly quiet. The excitement was real, but it was muted, filtered through the reality of the pandemic.

Instead of the usual cheers and back slaps, we cheered as loudly as we could from our separate rooms so we all knew how excited we were for everyone.

C-17s. Charleston.

It was the assignment I wanted — the aircraft I coveted from the start.

It felt surreal, like reaching the finish line after a marathon. I knew that this was just the beginning of something much bigger.

Wing Ceremony: The Day It All Becomes Real

Graduation Day at Columbus Air Force Base felt bittersweet.

Instead of the usual crowded auditorium, we were spaced six feet apart in a large, echoing hall. We wore our blues, polished and pressed, but our faces were hidden behind masks.

The biggest difference? No families or friends in the room.

Normally, your parents, siblings, and friends would be there, cameras flashing, smiles all around. But this was COVID. Our families watched from afar, tuned in through a virtual link, seeing us through screens instead of in person.

The ceremony began with speeches from senior officers, acknowledging not only the challenges of training but also the unique obstacles of doing it all during a global pandemic. They spoke of resilience — not just as pilots, but as people.

When they called my name, I stepped forward.

I now had wings on my chest — two inches of silver that represented 21 months of chaos and clarity, of failures and victories. I looked around at my classmates, all spread out, faces masked, but eyes beaming with the same sense of pride.

It was strange, surreal, and powerful.

COVID-19 couldn’t take away what we had earned.

We stood there — six feet apart — but in that moment, we were closer than ever.

For the first time, I felt it — really felt it.

I was an Air Force Pilot.

Next Up:

➡️ “Clear Skies and Wild Rides: Reflections and Lessons from USAF Pilot Training” — where I’ll share the biggest takeaways from 21 months of non-stop flying and learning in the world’s greatest Air Force.