Stories
Banes and Blessings
I discovered the delta last week hiding at the top of my closet, pushed way back like some dark secret waiting to be revealed at the worst possible moment. It was clear proof that the Human Genome Project is not yet finished, for the crumpled rip-stop nylon fabric stuffed away on the shelf is unmistakable evidence of our family’s kite gene.
The first confirmation of this gene was recorded in 1960 during the Kennedy-Nixon election year. For some unknown reason conditions one Sunday created a desire in my father to fly a kite. He gathered materials together as we watched fascinated by this new experiment. He carefully built out of small sticks and brown grocery sacks a small simple kite. It flew quite nicely inspiring him to wonder if he could attach a second to the string, which he did. At that point, everyone expected life to return to normal. Not so.
A new urge drove him on. If two kites could fly on a single string, how about three or four or more? My father was not a particularly political creature, but this year’s election seemed more significant to him and the two ideas converged. He proceeded to build seven separate kites each with a huge letter boldly printed on it. First the K and then the E and then the N and all the rest until proudly flying over our house was a long string of kites spelling out the candidate’s name. With success clearly evident, he was not content to pull in this kite but instead sought to determine how long it would stay up and remain for all to see. Sunday night we went to bed with kites still flying overhead. These same kites were still visible in the morning as we walked our way to junior high. They were still there when we returned home that afternoon. I came the short way; my brother took the long route that required him to climb fences and walk through alleys. The shame of the kite gene was more than he could bear.
Years later, a second flair up occurred in my generation when the local museum announced a kite festival. My ten year old son and I went expecting to watch some pretty kites and enjoy a day in the sun. Upon arrival, we were directed to a tent and handed the materials necessary to build a kite. It was grand fun. We painted ours with the bright distinctive Apple computer logo. When it was complete, we took it out to a field with all the others and watched it soar.
When the novice kites were brought down from the sky, we watched a display of gorgeous kites flown by professionals who could make them behave as well trained hawks diving and swooping upon command. I particularly pined for the large aerodynamic deltas that seemed to fly by themselves. I found myself talking to a handler as my son looked on. “Where do you get kites like that?” I asked innocently. No 12-step member was in more danger than I was at that moment. “Buffalo Beanos has some really nice ones. Try there.” said the handler unaware that he was providing dangerous fuel for the kite gene.
This was a problem. I knew Buffalo Beanos but not as a kite shop. Its reputation was for other means of flying and as a teacher I didn’t dare risk being seen there. But the urge was too great. My son and I drove from the park to the small seedy looking store. I considered leaving the car’s motor running so that I could make a quick getaway. My son and I walked into the store together trying to look like we always wandered through shops that had special pipes and paraphernalia on display. My reticence disappeared quickly as I sighted the kite. It was huge and striped in vivid colors of red and green and blue and yellow. I loved it. The nylon shimmered with enchantment. Hanging far overhead it called my name.
I paid for this extravagance quickly and escaped. We could hardly wait to get home. My husband looked somewhat aghast as I presented proudly my lovely delta (no one had told him that one should test pre-maritally for the kite gene). The children and I attached its brace and string, carried it outside to the alfalfa field across the street and launched it. No space shuttle was ever given more rapt attention at lift off. It soared just as I knew it would – effortless and graceful. My soul flew with it and my children clapped with delight.
When we finally had to call it home, we carefully hung it on the kitchen wall ready for a moment’s call. Any day when the wind was light but steady and school and other vocations not too demanding, we would take it down and set it free. I don’t remember when the fire burned out and I removed my lovely delta from the place of honor. But I have no doubts that one day my son will call to tell me that he has his own kite. The kite gene will not to be denied.