I found some kite string in my drawer the other day. It lay there neatly on it’s stick, never been used. I do not remember how it got there, but I’m guessing it was put there as an afterthought with good intentions to be used one day.
It belonged to my son’s kite; the kite that had been sitting in the corner of his bedroom inside a jacket of plastic, waiting for it’s maiden flight across the sky. Oh how we had vowed to take it out one day, ever since his 12th birthday, but there it sat in the corner of his room, gathering four years of layered dust.
It was a beautiful kite; a green fancy dragon type with brilliant colors of yellow and red, almost too beautiful to be torn in flight. I first had thought it would look best just hanging from my son’s ceiling at the corner of his room-but that never unfortunately ever happened either.
Last summer I came across it when we sold our home. I was quickly reminded of its presence again while packing up my son’s room. It was still sitting there, untouched and unused and unloved. A deep sense of regret and guilt came over me. The thought of it being left there, after so many years, forgotten, embarrassed me. I regretted not taking it out with my son and I shamefully packed it away with the rest of his belongings, vowing to myself that it would see the light of day sooner than later.
Now, almost nine months later, it now sits in the trunk of my car, among the dozens of empty reusable grocery bags and beach bag supplies. It’s sail is torn, and it’s frame broken from negligent abuse. Why I ask myself?
Sure, kites may not be as popular as they once were; there are so many other toys out there nowadays. My son even has a frisbee that plays music. But still, the kite was left in my kitchen drawer for a reason. I always had
good intentions for us to fly it one day; perhaps it was because I wanted to relive a childhood memory of simpler days; of riding bikes until the streetlights came on, or memories of building forts in the canyon across the street; collecting wild flowers and fire flies in old jelly jars. Where have those days gone? Trapped in kitchen drawers with good intentions.