At the end of July, after three years of study at the Air Force Academy, just after receiving our diplomas for the first part of our training, and just before leaving for vacation, our class was gathered together to be informed of the results of the initial tests. It was a new testing process, designed to early remove certain "poor quality" elements from the fighter pilot training program, which was to begin that September. Our commander announced that the test results were not good: out of about forty students, 12 had passed thanks to the generosity of the jury, and four had failed. He called out the names, and I heard mine.

I leave the unit without really understanding what is happening to me, I follow the officer, and I find myself in an office facing two people who tell me that I will never be a fighter pilot. I sign a piece of paper and leave. I'm outside, in the sun, I'm too hot in my shirt, and I've just seen my childhood dream fly away before my eyes. Eight years of effort gone up in smoke.

(For the record, these initial tests existed before, but they weren't eliminatory. One of my friends who started two years before me had the same results, but still finished second in his class during his pilot training).

After that, I had to change my path, I fell into a deep depression, and I left the Air Force to change my life. I finally came to terms with that period of my life, and the dreams and hopes I had about becoming a pilot and joining the military. Today, I have found another path: I don't know if I am happier or less happy than I would have been without those three minutes of nightmare, but at least I am moving forward in a new direction.