My neighbor was a Lt. Col in the Air Force, commander of a fighter squadron. He owned a 1946 Piper Cub and got all the neighborhood kids hooked on flying. The first time he took me up was right on the edge of a thunderstorm that moved in us rather quickly. I trusted his judgment, as he had flown in 3 wars, but still rather scary. He let me fly in on the downwind leg, decide when to turn, and then turn again, and brought it in right to the edge of the grass strip before he took over. Pretty thrilling as a 20 year old.
One time he was letting me fly and didn't notice the plane flying towards us. I pointed it out and he took over making a turn towards it and making machine gun noises. A kid at heart. The good old days.