Learning to Fly [06/16/2007]

By S. Peter Lewis

When my son Jeremiah was very small he said to me, Daddy, I want to fly a kite.We found a kite and a ball of string wound on a stick and walked out into the meadow across the road from our home. The day was bright and we launched our little kite into a steady breeze. The kite soared and Jeremiah jumped up and down and begged to hold the stick. I knelt behind him and dropped my arms over his head and he reached out and grasped the stick and we flew the kite together. It feels alive, Jeremiah said. When the kite was just a tiny dot in the sky, Mom called from the kitchen window. Supper is ready you guys, she said. Oh Daddy, do we have to go in? Jeremiah asked. Go find a rock, I said, and he scampered off.Together we pounded the stick into the earth and headed back to Moms warm kitchen. We walked backwards so we could watch our kite. After dark we returned to the meadow with a flashlight. The breeze still blew, we found our stick, and I played the beam of flashlight up the string as it stretched into the night. I cant see the kite, Daddy. How can we tell its still in the sky? Jeremiah asked. Reach out and touch the string, I said. As he held the string in his little fingers, his eyes got big, and he smiled. I feel it tugging, he said. Will it stay all night, Daddy? he asked. I tugged down on the brim of his baseball cap. Lets find out.In the morning we went back to the meadow. Jeremiah was very excited and ran ahead. When I reached him he was holding the limp string in his hands. The breeze still blew, and the stick hadnt pulled out, but the string was now lying on the ground in gentle waves, the far end tangled and broken in the branches of a tree. Jeremiah stood behind me and looked into the sky. Wow, I wonder how high our kite is now, he said. I was wadding up the string and I turned to him. The kites not flying anymore, son, I said. It crashed. It cant fly without the string. Jeremiah looked at me and frowned. But I thought the string was just so we could get the kite back, he said. He took the wad of string from my hand and began to walk across the meadow toward home. He looked down at his feet and shuffled, pulling the string up out of the grass. I walked alongside with my hand on his shoulder. We live in a world without enough string. Its a world that knows no bounds, a world where people let every new wind blow them where it may. Its a world that does not understand that true freedom is found in restraint. Like kites, our children cannot fly without the restraining freedom of the string. We build the string for them from many strands, each a lesson in how to live in a mixed-up world.We add a strand when we tell them that God loves them and that life has purpose. We add another strand when we show them how to work hard, when we are respectful of others, when we are honest, gracious and generous. Strands are added when we go to ball games and church plays and dance recitals. More strands are added every time we listen to our children, every time we forgive them, and every time we ask them to forgive us. The string gets stronger when we teach them practical, everyday things, like how to balance a checkbook, and why they should change their oil every 3,000 miles, and why they should stay away from drugs and alcohol, and why they should stay pure before marriage and faithful afterward. Little by little the string becomes a cord so strong that our children can soar, even in a world where the wind blows from every direction.Jeremiah called not long ago from a seaport in the Gulf of Mexico. The connection was good but the background noise made it hard to hear. I just have a few minutes, Dad, he shouted into the phone. Were heading out to the oil rig soon. I heard rumbling and distant horns blowing and the roar of enormous engines. We talked about little things, and laughed a lot, and then Jeremiah said, Hold on for a second, as the percussive wap-wap-wap of a helicopter growled overhead. When he came back on the line he said there was a problem with a member of the crew and he wasnt sure what to do. It was an awkward situation and he was anxious. I listened, and then asked a question or two, and finally told him what I thought was the right thing to do. Thanks, Dad, thats a big help, he said. Jeremiah and I were a thousand miles apart. This little boy, who walked beside me in the meadow all those years ago and asked me what made our kite fly, was all grown up. I was so proud of him. And, though I couldnt see him, in those last few moments on the telephone, as my son prepared to head out into the wind-tossed sea, we connected again, as we always had, and I could almost reach out and feel the gentle tug of the string. 2007 S. Peter Lewis