Sunday, June 24, 2018

Kite String 2

Kite String--take 2
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 10th 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 string 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.

Friday, June 15, 2018

Kite String

Kite String
My childhood summers were spent near the ocean at windy beaches with rainbow buckets, shovels, and countless plastic kites purchased with birthday money at the local TG&Y.   My plastic kite certainly wasn't the strongest or the fanciest; it was only your run of the mill triangular kites decorated in the shape of butterflies with only a string for a tail.  I made it my own by adding plastic bows and leftover hair ribbon.  It was cheaply made, but it was strong enough to last at least one day at the beach.
“All you need is some kite string, and a good wind,” my father would say.
I fondly remember days with my father, and carefully holding the kite's frame high above my head, waiting for his signal.  He would stand there in front of me at a distance, waiting for the first gust of wind.  
“Let go!”
I joyfully released my kite into the wind, and marveled as It steadily rose above me; it’s tail of ribbons looming wildly above my head.  I watched my father as he skillfully maneuvered the line with his hands; releasing the line slowly with his fingers.  His small steps backward would send the kite higher into the sky.   
“Okay, Julie.  Take it now.”
My father then motioned for me to take hold of the spool of kite string.  I was unsure of myself, and my father seemed to sense my insecurities.  I wasn’t the most coordinated child, and there was a history of many ill-fated flights from the past, but a sense of determination soon took over me. 
“Just keep it steady.  If the pitch starts falling, just run a little, but keep it against the wind,” my father warned.
I nodded to my father, as I took a tight grip to the kite string. 
I felt the strong and steady pull of the line instantly, and happily watched as my butterfly kite continued to lift up above me.   It was exciting to know I was in full control, and I could feel my confidence rise with the kite as it continued to drive steadily up into the sky.   My kite was also getting a lot of attention.  Younger children were now standing near me, and even strangers had stopped to look up and admire it cutting through the clouds.
“Roll the line a little.”
Hesitantly I began to roll my spool of line; a little to the left, and then to the right.  The motion soon sends my kite down immediately, loosing it’s pitch and out of control into a turbulent looking frenzy!
“Run, Julie run!”  my father calls out excitedly.
I take the spool of line and take off running, kicking sand, my butterfly kite flying out of control somewhere behind me. 
"You did it, Julie, you did it!"
I hear my father's voice behind me, and turn around still running, only to see my butterfly kite now dancing; with ribbons and bows flowing gracefully against a cloudy summer sky.