For the life of me I can't understand what the attraction is for grown men to want to fly small planes. Small planes changed the direction of rock 'n roll when Buddy Holly died. They took away the son America adopted when they saw him salute his father's horse drawn casket in 1963 and grow up to be John Fitzgerald Kennedy Jr. They also took away arguably the greatest catcher in Yankee history when Thurman Munson crashed in 1979. Now we lose one of the classiest men to ever throw a baseball, Roy Halladay.

Halladay came into town riding on a Phillie and he would take that Philadelphia team on a ride that would include a perfect game, a no hitter in the playoffs, a crushing 1-0 playoff loss where he would give up only one run, and the feeling that as long as he was around, the Phillies could win the World Series.

Halladay retired in 2013 and his new passion became his plane, which he registered in the name of his father, a commercial airline pilot. Halladay was all about children, from his own two to the those who were sick. While in Toronto where he played before the Phillies, he would invite those children and their families from the "Hospital for Sick Children" into "Doc's Box" during Blue Jays games, which was remodeled to be more kid friendly. He was also the Blue Jays nominee for the Roberto Clemente award for his work with the underprivileged children. Clemente also lost his life in a plane crash.

As a father of two boys, I could never think of getting into a hobby that would take me away from them, as well as everyone else I meant something to. I'll never understand what the draw of a flying a small plane is, but I know it's not worth this. Rest in peace Roy Halladay and to anyone who reads this thinking of flying a small plane: think of something else.

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