Remi/Judy just wrote this lovely poem about – well not about – but it included a kite. It triggered a memory of my own. I told her about it on Skype, and she
suggested urged cajoled me to elaborate. Here is that elaboration.
I remember the time when I still lived at home here with mom & dad. I was perhaps 18 or 19 years old, striving/fumbling to establish my identity. A spring day, and I’d just bought a kite on a whim, likely to show my yearning to be not-the-same. It must have been a weekend, since mom & dad were both home. Dad had a beer in hand, as usual. I announced I was going out to my friend Dan’s farm to fly the kite in his wide rising winter wheat field. Dad made some kinda silly half-snide retort, and I said, “Well, why don’t you come with me?” He laughed and dismissed my question. “Chicken?” I said gently. “Let’s go!”, he said. And so it came to pass that Dan drove out to check his fields that day only to discover me & dad out in his wheat field flying a kite in a clear blue sky with a brisk April wind. Dad still had his beer in hand, and the biggest grin on his face that I ever saw.