1965, Sacramento to San Diego, to visit grandparents. I was 6 and my brother was 5. My parents took us to the gate and then the stewardesses treated us like princes. We got wings from the pilot and other treats.

In later years we often flew on PSA to SoCal. PSA was always late taking off. One time, we headed to the runway on schedule-to our surprise. But when we got to the ready area somebody decided the door wasn't closed properly. By the time they got it sorted out...we were late, as usual.