The invitation said there will be kite flying on Friday from a sixth-floor rooftop garden. 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.
First reaction: Oh no, couldn't possibly go kite flying. There's way too much to do on that certain Friday.
Second reaction: What is more important than kite flying? Can I refuse a chance to be
extremely silly and absolutely joyful? And how could anything -- amidst the never-ending
drumbeats of anxiety, anger and alienation -- be as urgent and fine as sharing kites with
The kite flying days when I was a child are some of my most precious memories. My sister, my
father and I built swell kites from a few pieces of wood, newspapers and flour-and-water
paste. Attach some sturdy twine to tether it plus a tail of torn-up rags, and it was good to
go. One of us ran the length of the driveway holding the kite up while we all willed the
mighty breezes to catch it and make it soar. More than one sprint was often required; then
suddenly it would find its purpose. And I'd surrender to the thrill of watching a kite dance
with the wind.
I think it's impossible to be bored or afraid or angry while flying kites. Those who want us
to live in constant fear forgot about the kites.
WATER WINGS FOR SUCCESS - ISSUE 2006-10 - ISSN: 1534-178X (c) copyright Jane Allen 2006. All rights reserved.