Excerpt
Chapter 1: Who Was Amelia Earhart?
Amelia Earhart was not an ordinary girl, and her story is not an ordinary tale. Picture this: a girl born in 1897, in a small town in Kansas, who loved adventure more than anything else. While other girls were expected to stay neat, quiet, and proper, Amelia loved climbing trees, playing outside, and chasing after excitement. Her sense of curiosity made her stand out, even when she didn’t realize it yet.
Her family called her "Millie," but she had another nickname too: “Meeley.” It suited her well because she was always zipping around, exploring the world around her. But Amelia’s childhood wasn’t all sunshine and tree-climbing. Her family moved around a lot because her father struggled with keeping steady work. Even when times were tough, Amelia kept her adventurous spirit alive. She loved spending time outdoors with her younger sister, Muriel, who she called “Pidge.” The two sisters were inseparable, always plotting new ways to have fun. Whether it was sledding down a hill or building something extraordinary, Amelia’s imagination knew no limits.
One summer, while visiting the St. Louis World’s Fair, Amelia saw something that sparked her curiosity in a way nothing else had: a roller coaster. Back then, amusement parks were rare, and this was unlike anything she’d ever seen. When she got home, she decided to build her own. With Muriel’s help, she found scraps of wood, built a ramp from the roof of their tool shed, and used an old wooden crate for the “car.” It was a bumpy ride that ended with a crash, but Amelia didn’t mind. She had dared to create something thrilling. That fearless streak stayed with her for the rest of her life.
Amelia wasn’t just bold; she was curious about everything. She loved reading about faraway places, dreaming of deserts, mountains, and oceans she had never seen. Her grandmother had strict ideas about what girls should do, like learning to sew or play piano. Amelia gave those activities a try, but they didn’t excite her the way the outdoors or a new adventure did. She wanted more than what was expected of her, even if she didn’t yet know what “more” meant.
It wasn’t until years later that Amelia’s curiosity met its match in an unexpected way. On Christmas Day in 1908, she and Muriel visited an airfield where pilots were putting on a show. Airplanes were brand new at the time, loud and clunky, and not everyone trusted them to stay in the air. Amelia watched as a pilot zoomed past, dipping and soaring through the sky. She wasn’t impressed. The plane didn’t seem remarkable to her then—it looked more like a strange mechanical bird. Flying didn’t capture her attention right away, but the spark of possibility was there.
What truly caught Amelia’s interest was helping others. During World War I, she worked as a nurse’s aide in Canada, caring for wounded soldiers who had returned from the front lines. She wanted to make a difference in the world and thought about becoming a doctor. It wasn’t until after the war, when she saw women doing all sorts of things previously considered impossible for them—driving cars, working in factories, and even piloting planes—that her curiosity about flying began to grow.
Then came the day that changed everything. In 1920, Amelia and her father visited an airfield near Long Beach, California. For ten dollars, she could ride in an airplane. Her father handed over the money, and Amelia climbed into the open cockpit, feeling both excited and unsure. The engine roared to life, the plane rattled and shook, and then, just like that, they were off the ground. Up in the air, Amelia’s heart raced. The world below looked so small, as though she’d been given a glimpse into something magical. By the time they landed, she was hooked. “As soon as we left the ground,” she said later, “I knew I had to fly.”
Flying wasn’t easy—or cheap. Lessons cost more money than she had, so she worked hard at all sorts of jobs to save up. She was a photographer, a truck driver, and even a stenographer, typing up documents for other people. Eventually, she earned enough to pay for her first flying lesson. Her instructor was a woman named Neta Snook, one of the very few female pilots at the time. Amelia’s first flight lesson wasn’t glamorous. She wore a leather jacket, but to make it look tough and weathered, she slept in it for three nights. Her flying shoes were a pair of worn-out boots. None of that mattered, though, because as soon as she took the controls of the plane, Amelia felt unstoppable.
She learned quickly and practiced even more. She spent every free moment at the airfield, asking questions and soaking up every bit of knowledge she could. Soon, Amelia was ready to buy her own plane. It was a bright yellow biplane that she nicknamed “The Canary.” It was small, noisy, and not very fast, but to Amelia, it was perfect. She took off whenever she could, mastering turns, loops, and landings.
Amelia Earhart was not an ordinary girl, and her story is not an ordinary tale. Picture this: a girl born in 1897, in a small town in Kansas, who loved adventure more than anything else. While other girls were expected to stay neat, quiet, and proper, Amelia loved climbing trees, playing outside, and chasing after excitement. Her sense of curiosity made her stand out, even when she didn’t realize it yet.
Her family called her "Millie," but she had another nickname too: “Meeley.” It suited her well because she was always zipping around, exploring the world around her. But Amelia’s childhood wasn’t all sunshine and tree-climbing. Her family moved around a lot because her father struggled with keeping steady work. Even when times were tough, Amelia kept her adventurous spirit alive. She loved spending time outdoors with her younger sister, Muriel, who she called “Pidge.” The two sisters were inseparable, always plotting new ways to have fun. Whether it was sledding down a hill or building something extraordinary, Amelia’s imagination knew no limits.
One summer, while visiting the St. Louis World’s Fair, Amelia saw something that sparked her curiosity in a way nothing else had: a roller coaster. Back then, amusement parks were rare, and this was unlike anything she’d ever seen. When she got home, she decided to build her own. With Muriel’s help, she found scraps of wood, built a ramp from the roof of their tool shed, and used an old wooden crate for the “car.” It was a bumpy ride that ended with a crash, but Amelia didn’t mind. She had dared to create something thrilling. That fearless streak stayed with her for the rest of her life.
Amelia wasn’t just bold; she was curious about everything. She loved reading about faraway places, dreaming of deserts, mountains, and oceans she had never seen. Her grandmother had strict ideas about what girls should do, like learning to sew or play piano. Amelia gave those activities a try, but they didn’t excite her the way the outdoors or a new adventure did. She wanted more than what was expected of her, even if she didn’t yet know what “more” meant.
It wasn’t until years later that Amelia’s curiosity met its match in an unexpected way. On Christmas Day in 1908, she and Muriel visited an airfield where pilots were putting on a show. Airplanes were brand new at the time, loud and clunky, and not everyone trusted them to stay in the air. Amelia watched as a pilot zoomed past, dipping and soaring through the sky. She wasn’t impressed. The plane didn’t seem remarkable to her then—it looked more like a strange mechanical bird. Flying didn’t capture her attention right away, but the spark of possibility was there.
What truly caught Amelia’s interest was helping others. During World War I, she worked as a nurse’s aide in Canada, caring for wounded soldiers who had returned from the front lines. She wanted to make a difference in the world and thought about becoming a doctor. It wasn’t until after the war, when she saw women doing all sorts of things previously considered impossible for them—driving cars, working in factories, and even piloting planes—that her curiosity about flying began to grow.
Then came the day that changed everything. In 1920, Amelia and her father visited an airfield near Long Beach, California. For ten dollars, she could ride in an airplane. Her father handed over the money, and Amelia climbed into the open cockpit, feeling both excited and unsure. The engine roared to life, the plane rattled and shook, and then, just like that, they were off the ground. Up in the air, Amelia’s heart raced. The world below looked so small, as though she’d been given a glimpse into something magical. By the time they landed, she was hooked. “As soon as we left the ground,” she said later, “I knew I had to fly.”
Flying wasn’t easy—or cheap. Lessons cost more money than she had, so she worked hard at all sorts of jobs to save up. She was a photographer, a truck driver, and even a stenographer, typing up documents for other people. Eventually, she earned enough to pay for her first flying lesson. Her instructor was a woman named Neta Snook, one of the very few female pilots at the time. Amelia’s first flight lesson wasn’t glamorous. She wore a leather jacket, but to make it look tough and weathered, she slept in it for three nights. Her flying shoes were a pair of worn-out boots. None of that mattered, though, because as soon as she took the controls of the plane, Amelia felt unstoppable.
She learned quickly and practiced even more. She spent every free moment at the airfield, asking questions and soaking up every bit of knowledge she could. Soon, Amelia was ready to buy her own plane. It was a bright yellow biplane that she nicknamed “The Canary.” It was small, noisy, and not very fast, but to Amelia, it was perfect. She took off whenever she could, mastering turns, loops, and landings.