Tag: learning

Launching a Life: Model Rockets, Wind, and the Spark of Adventure

I’ve always believed that we humans are meant to impose our will on the environment around us. Not recklessly, of course—we’re not charging into hurricanes for fun—but deliberately, purposefully. We don’t let the weather dictate our plans; within reason, we decide what we do, and we do it regardless. That philosophy has guided much of my life, from professional challenges in aerospace to personal commitments. It’s a theme I try to instill in everyone around me, especially the young ones. And on a blustery, rainy Saturday in March, it became the backdrop for one of the most rewarding days I’ve had in years: launching model rockets with my youngest grandson.

He’s nine now, tall for his age, sharp as a tack, and already showing signs of a brilliant future. Science draws him like a magnet. Several years ago, when he was four or five, I bought him a model rocket kit. We planned to build it together, paint it, and send it skyward. But life intervenes—busy schedules, new babies in the family, vacations, the endless pull of obligations. The kit sat on a shelf, waiting for the right moment. I didn’t want to rush him; he was young, and forcing it might have dimmed the spark rather than kindled it.

That changed recently during a trip my wife and I took to the NASA area, touring facilities tied to Blue Origin and SpaceX. Walking those grounds, surrounded by reminders of the expanding space economy, I felt a renewed urgency. Time moves fast—kids grow up quicker than we realize. I started looking for souvenirs for all my grandchildren, little tokens to keep the wonder alive. For him, though, it wasn’t just a trinket. It was a reminder of that dusty rocket kit and his genuine love for anything related to space, engineering, and flight. I made a quiet commitment: we were going to do this before he outgrew it. No more delays.

We targeted a Saturday in March. The forecast called for warmth—comfortable enough to be outside—but also rain and wind. I didn’t care. We were launching, come what may. He’s science-inclined, curious about everything, and I wanted him to experience the real thing: not a sanitized, perfect day, but the messy, unpredictable reality of experimentation. That’s where true learning happens.

The day arrived, and the weather delivered exactly what it promised: gusty winds, low clouds, intermittent rain. We set up in an open field, far from power lines or crowds. First came assembly. We spread out the pieces on a table in the garage—cardboard tubes, fins, nose cones, parachutes, engines. He dove in with focus, following instructions but asking questions at every step. Why this glue here? How does the parachute deploy? What makes it stable in flight? We talked about center of gravity, drag, thrust, recovery systems. Basic rocketry principles, but taught hands-on, not from a textbook.

Model rocketry is more than a hobby; it’s an accessible gateway to STEM.[^1] Estes Rockets, the company behind most beginner kits, has been inspiring kids since the 1950s. These small, solid-fuel rockets reach hundreds or thousands of feet, then deploy parachutes for safe descent. They teach physics, aerodynamics, electronics (with simple igniters), and patience. For a nine-year-old, it’s magic wrapped in science.

We finished two rockets: a smaller one for easy flights, and a larger, more ambitious design. Painted, decorated, engines installed. Then, out to the field.

The first launch was tentative. We set up the pad, connected the electric igniter, counted down. Whoosh! It streaked upward, punching through the low clouds. But the wind caught it immediately. Instead of a graceful arc, it drifted fast and far. We lost sight in the gray. That became the theme of the day: rockets vanishing into clouds, then drifting on currents we couldn’t predict.

We adapted. He learned to estimate trajectories based on wind direction and speed. “Watch the flag,” I told him. “See how it’s blowing? That’s your drift vector.” We calculated rough landing zones, then hiked to search. One rocket came down over half a mile away—caught by a strong gust, parachute fully deployed, floating like Mary Poppins. It landed in a distant backyard. My wife and grandson trekked through yards, knocking on doors, retrieving it triumphantly. No surrender. We recovered it, muddy but intact.

The smaller rocket performed spectacularly—at least in ascent. It hit over 280 miles per hour from a standstill, a blistering acceleration that thrilled us both. But on descent, the cardboard body started unraveling under stress. We didn’t panic. We drove to Tractor Supply, bought glue, repaired it in the field, and used a heater to speed curing. A couple hours later, it flew again—fixed on the fly, better than before.

That’s the real lesson: troubleshooting. Life doesn’t go as planned. Igniters fail. Wind shifts. Rockets drift. You fix it, adapt, persist. We talked about cold fronts, cloud layers, condensation—why the sky looked the way it did, how dense air aloft held moisture, leading to our rain. Meteorology became part of the adventure. He absorbed it all, eyes wide.

His mother is a professional photographer; his dad experiments with content creation, traveling the world for a YouTube-style channel. He’s grown up watching high-end video production. YouTube is this generation’s Hollywood—kids dream of channels, subscribers, viral moments instead of rock stardom. He’s paid close attention: editing, cuts, narrative flow, dialogue.

Throughout the day, he filmed. Multiple angles—me prepping the pad, countdowns, launches, recoveries. He captured mishaps: the long drifts, the repair session, the triumphant finds. I noticed but didn’t interfere. I figured he was just playing around.

That evening, he went home and edited. A 15-minute video emerged—polished, narrated in his own voice, with cuts, transitions, music. It chronicled everything: building, launching, laughing at failures, celebrating recoveries. Sophisticated doesn’t begin to describe it. For a nine-year-old, it was remarkable. His parents’ influence showed, but this was his creation—his enthusiasm, his story.

I was floored. Not just proud (though grandparents are allowed that), but genuinely impressed. He turned a grandfather-grandson outing into a production. It had heart, humor, science. I’ll share it on it here to give it a wider audience—he deserves it. He’s not shy; he expresses himself openly. This glimpse into our family’s Saturday might inspire others.

The day wasn’t perfect. Rockets got lost (temporarily), weather fought us, plans shifted. But perfection isn’t the point. The mishaps were the gold: recovering a drifter, gluing a torn tube, predicting drift. Those build resilience. Intelligence, unfed, can wander into unproductive places. Hobbies like this channel it productively. Model rocketry feeds curiosity, teaches engineering basics, fosters grit.

In aerospace, where I’ve spent much of my career as an executive, we deal with unpredictability daily. Rockets don’t always fly straight. Missions face delays, anomalies. You troubleshoot, iterate, succeed. Sharing that with him—hands dirty, minds engaged—felt like passing a torch. He’s headed toward engineering, space, something impactful. My job is to show doors worth walking through.

We’ve only started. More launches ahead. He’s proud of his “trophies”—the rockets on his shelf, reminders of the adventure. When things go wrong, he doesn’t panic. He fights through. That’s a lifetime gift.

If you’re busy, schedules packed, kids growing fast—make the time. Block it out. The weather might not cooperate, but impose your will. The rewards—light in young eyes, skills cascading forward—are worth every gusty, rainy minute.

[^1]: Estes Rockets official site and National Association of Rocketry resources highlight educational benefits; see generally model rocketry as a STEM tool.

[^2]: Personal observation; no specific external citation needed for family anecdotes.

Rich Hoffman

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About the Author: Rich Hoffman

Rich Hoffman is an independent writer, philosopher, political advisor, and strategist based in the Cincinnati/Middletown, Ohio area. Born in Hamilton, Ohio, he has worked professionally since age 12 in various roles, from manual labor to high-level executive positions in aerospace and related industries. Known as “The Tax-killer” for his activism against tax increases, Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.

He publishes the blog The Overmanwarrior (overmanwarrior.wordpress.com), where he shares insights on politics, culture, history, and personal stories. Active on X as @overmanwarrior, Instagram, and YouTube, Hoffman frequently discusses space exploration, family values, and human potential. An avid fast-draw artist and family man, he emphasizes passing practical skills and intellectual curiosity to younger generations.

God Bless Homeschoolers: Times have changed, and more people are turning away from the terrible public schools to save their children

I thought it was a waste of time when I went to public schools. I hated most of it. None of the relationships I formed in those school years meant anything to me. I always viewed public school as a massive social experiment, even in the early years, and thought of going there the same as going to prison. You weren’t allowed to think about what you wanted or do what you wanted, which always seemed wrong to me. So I never have been enthusiastic about public schools, and over the years, I have written millions and millions of words about why John Dewy was wrong about forming it from the beginning. I didn’t feel any different when my own kids went to public school. There was a time when my wife was very supportive, one of my kids was in the fourth grade, and the other was in third. My wife volunteered in everything that she could in both of those classrooms. She was one of the “moms” that the school treated almost like a teaching staff member. Everyone knew her, and she was beloved by all the kids. Well, in that fourth-grade class, the school had sent home a permission slip for teaching my daughter about sex by putting on a condom onto a plastic dildo, and of course, we said no. What followed was a complete mess; the school was so angry with us that the full force of their wrath was brought down on us. No longer was my wife welcome in the school. We got mad and fought back. It turned into a significant event in that the police union got involved, and it ended up in the mayor’s office. We ended up pulling our kids out of school for a year until we moved to a different district and started all over again somewhere else. 

That year of teaching our kids at home was one of the hardest in our entire 30-plus-year marriage. We had no family support for it, and the community was entirely against it. We lost all our friends over it, and even 20 years later, we never repaired those relationships. I was alright with the social castigation, but it was very difficult for my wife. It was just a year of homeschooling, but it cost her a lot because of the social pressure we experienced. That’s why it surprised me that both of my kids pulled their kids out of public school during the Covid pandemic, a government-made viral outbreak that they wanted to control through government-taught education. Because my education always involved elements of life outside of public school, and I had never accepted public education as a form of education that was of any value, it was easy for me to see what a stupid set-up it was with the whole Covid thing. My kids have now been homeschooling their kids for a lot longer than my wife, and I had. But they had a much different experience just over 20 years later. Instead of everyone telling them in society how wrong they were, they were getting admiration from their peers. Most people they interact with expressed a desire to do the same thing for their kids if they could afford to, which most can’t. And there are large homeschooling conventions now that didn’t exist in the 90s. The support system is much better than it used to be, which can be seen in some of the pictures in this article, as my kids just went to a large homeschooling convention in Cincinnati. 

Attitudes have changed a lot about public education. It’s certainly not that anybody hates education, quite the opposite. What is evident at an event like the Ohio Homeschool Convention is that people have learned not to accept the bad product that public school is. The concept that kids can learn what they need to in life by a government school is ridiculous and ill-conceived. Many people never thought to accept the question of it because they had no choice in the matter. Most everyone has to go to public schools, so they had to justify the terrible product because to admit otherwise would be personally harmful to their intellects. That was why we had such a violent experience when my wife and I did it. But despite what is projected from the media culture about public schools, attitudes have changed dramatically. Even people who I would think would be all into the public school experience with cheerleading and pom poms are telling my kids how much they admire them for putting their kids first and taking responsibility for their educations themselves. My kids take my grandchildren’s education very seriously, and I’m very proud of them. In my house, we read books, lots of them, education never stops, no matter if you are 7 or 70. I have smart kids, and they are helping my grandchildren unlock the treasures of their own brains, and it’s a beautiful thing to look at. They have chosen not to surrender their kids over to some scum bag government employee covered in tattoos and body piercings who don’t even know what sex they are. And my grandchildren aren’t even thinking about sex in school under the third and fourth grades. When my grandkids come home, there is a parent in the house to greet them, as they always should be. Turn your kids over to a daycare or a public school, then don’t complain when they turn out to be messed up adults. Those babysitting services are not replacements for a parent’s love, as Dewey and the government fully intended to destroy.

So like a lot of things that have come out of Covid, the media seemed surprised that public school enrollment is down as pandemic restrictions have been eased. Parents have seen enough, and those who can are not sending their kids back to those palaces of mental enslavement. What the political left never factored into their calculations about “the new normal” was that it wasn’t going to be the complete obedience that Klaus Schwab talks about in his books on a complete socialist takeover of all things in the world. Instead, the smart people not yet suckered into enslavement were never again going to trust the government, health officials, or a public school system to do anything with their kids. A lot of parents are going to change the way they do things. The violence toward my wife and me mentioned was their attempt to keep dissidents from escaping their control, and they tried everything to punish us, which was a horrible idea. A lot of unnecessary pain resulted, which could have been averted. But instead of getting more control over that period, they have essentially lost it all. People do not feel privileged to have a public school system like they used to even ten years ago. Now, it’s just a necessary evil because they are too busy to do the job themselves or don’t feel they know enough to teach their own kids. But with every teacher who comes on television and talks about gender neutrality and represents themselves as progressive disasters, there will be more parents who want to homeschool their children to keep them out of that government-designed disaster. And to my eyes, with the long game under consideration, that just might save America rather than destroy it, as Dewey always intended. 

Rich Hoffman

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