There’s a park near us. It used to be a military base; in fact, Dad anoN was stationed there during the Korean War. Over the years, it’s been slowly repurposed to be a public area of walking trails, picnic areas, and overlooks. A prettier area in the city of Seattle you will not find.
The old parade grounds, by the way, make a perfect place to fly kites.
Which is exactly what we did, a few weekends ago. Me. My Other and her delta-winged kite, which she can get aloft when there’s hardly a whisper of wind. Oily and Sylvia. Vic, Kelly, and their son, Leo.
Oily and Sylvia brought their dual-line kites; parasails on strings. It’s been a long time since I flew a dual-line. We had a delta wing dual line kite early on in our marriage, when we had lots of time and not a lot of money. We flew it enough (and crashed it enough) that we eventually wore it out. But these parasail constructs looked much more capable of taking punishment. And Oily was having a great time buzzing us and making it dance in midair.
He turns to me with a big grin and says, “Wanna give it a go?”
I give it a go.
I am less than graceful. I crash it quickly several times, much to the amusement of the rest of the gang. But I slowly remember how to control the dual lines. I remember how to make it go left and right. Oily instructs me on how a parasail works. A tug here and this happens. A sharp, repeated tug on both lines and it rises.
Soon I am making it do figure 8s and guiding it across the breezy sky. I’m not as good as Oily is, but I’m having a blast.
I don’t know what any bypassers might have thought, seeing two grown men hoot and yell with delight as we guided a flying sail through loops, bends, and near misses with the ground.
But you know, it doesn’t matter.
This world isn’t much for encouraging dreamers. It will always tell you that you’re too something. Too thin. Too fat. Too uneducated. Too awkward. Too old. Too young. Too late. Too early. Too risky. Too unattainable. Too anything.
It’s not personal. It’s just that there’s always reasons NOT to do something. Which it seems are all too quick to be pointed out to you one way or another.
Me? I’m tired of giving those voices any more credibility. I’m going to go fly a kite. I’m sure it looks stupid to some and I’ll crash it a lot. Hey, whatever. It’s not life or death. It’s flying a kite. And it’s fun.
You might be with me one day at the park. And I may turn to you with a big grin and say, “Wanna give it a go?”