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I love to fly. Last month I flew out of Washington’s DCA airport, recalling my best flight ever in 1989.
On a beautiful day, we flew right over national monuments, curved over Georgetown Prep, where I boarded for two years, over the American Press Institute, where I had just spoken to a newspaper group, then over Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello and the University of Virginia, from which I graduated.
I started to worry my life was literally flashing before me. Then, before landing in Charlotte, we flew right over my Dilworth house. I thought I saw my children playing out front.