The Kite

In our youth, life seems to revolve around us through events.  Those events - later, often lost in the shadows of our memories - in so many ways, mold us.  They become a part of who we are, and perhaps more importantly - who we become.  Looking back on them can be of great value to our present and our future, if we search for the deeper lessons found in them.  The lessons are always there, always.

The Kite

The kite itself was quite nondescript - I really don't even remember it having any markings - I think it was red.  It was not like the high tech, acrobatic kites of today.  Even in its day, it would have been considered a simple, ordinary kite - a bossa wood cross covered with crepe paper.  It was probably bought for a quarter at Simpson's store.  Regardless, there was no way this kite was likely to go far, as kites go.

The kite was likely purchased from the proceeds we saved returning old "coke" bottles for the refund - they paid two cents apiece back then - a fortune.  We had no idea we were some of the earliest recyclers.  We just knew if you could find them they were free (and it didn't involve stealing, so it was honest work in our minds) and a single bottle could buy two pieces of bubblegum with a corny cartoon in the wrapper.  For a while the refund-bottle trade was so lucrative with us that we thought we would become wealthy bottle barons.  Sure, there were kids who "cheated" and talked their mom or a neighbor out of their empties, but we looked down on that practice - there was no adventure involved; it was much more respected and glorious to be the explorer of a previously undiscovered throw-away-zone.  You know - places like the Interstate highway median, or along an old dirt road.  

It was the kite's tail that was so different  - distinctly long and heavy - made of a worn out white bed sheet torn into strips and tied together with "granny knots".  I had no idea why such a scrawny kite needed a 10-12 foot tail (I was only ten or so at the time and completely unschooled in aerodynamics), but Charlie kept us tying on more strips, and when Charlie gave orders they were obeyed.  Charlie was probably 14 and he was the street leader, our boss.  

It was a windy day in early spring, 1966 or '67, perhaps.  In those days, small town kids in the South had run of the town - we were kings, on bicycles.  And the obvious place to fly the highest kite was only a mile or so down the road where all the piney woods had been cleared in preparation for building the new Louisiana Tech football stadium, track, and practice fields.  The site was strategic for two reasons: no trees to get tangled in; and high visibility to the general public (after all, what good was the world record kite flight unless everybody witnessed it?).

For such a flight, great lengths of twine were needed – we started with probably three or four balls.  (I am not sure now how much twine is on a ball, but it had to be at least 100 yards – just a guess of course, they probably don’t make cotton twine balls like that anymore).  Naturally, Charlie was the kite pilot, and he commanded a ready crew consisting of me, my older brother, and the two soon-to-be-infamous Causey brothers.  

It took several tries and a lot of running to get her into the air – that tail was a real problem, it was just so heavy.  But the wind was strong and steady, and giving up was not an option.  With firm and knowledgeable commands from our captain we ran our lungs out and finally set her soaring.

For a long while, Charlie remained at the helm, not allowing any of us little kids to control her.  At first he worked at it - letting her reel off line when the wind pulled, pulling back when there was too much slack, preventing a lethal dive.  It wasn't long before that little kite was flying high over the open field - and Charlie started screaming: "More string"!  Frankly, I do not remember where we got it, but somehow we put our hands on several more balls of twine.  Enough so that little kite was flying more than several hundred feet high and well past the Illinois Central railroad track which was at least a quarter mile away.  And more twine was on the way as bike wheels churned.

At some point I guess Charlie bored of holding her, because we all eventually got a chance to fly her.  When my turn came I was ready.  Even now, I can still feel the power and tremendous responsibility of holding on to that little kite.  It was like being at the helm of a great sailing ship blowing on the sea - tugging, swaying, yearning to break free - with only me to hold her steady from certain doom.

Eventually, we could not even really see her - but an occasional glint from the sun and pull on the string confirmed she was still rising.  We should have been in awe of the kite, but being boys, we were more in awe of ourselves - proud of our accomplishment of flying a kite higher than anybody had ever flown one (it must have been some kind of world record, we supposed).  At some point, we became numbed of the feat and did not know what to do with her, so we just held on because there was nothing else to do.

Then it happened, with no warning, and little fanfare: somewhere along that long length of cheap cotton twine a break occurred - the line just went slack.  We lost sight of her quickly, as though she dissolved into the sky, never to be seen again.  There was brief discussion of going to find her, but the afternoon was waning so we mounted for home. Great stories of the feat were told upon our return, but only for a day or two - we had bigger adventures to attend, summer was coming.

I think back on that little kite and wonder:  How did she fly so high and not rip apart at those altitudes?  Where did her tether break, and why?  Where did she land and what became of her?

Some things I know for certain now.  That fragile little kite did not rip apart because of that ridiculously long and heavy tail - that was her anchor against the strong winds at high altitude.  What made her so difficult to become airborne also gave her the stability to remain in tact, and to fly higher.  Surviving turbulence requires a long, heavy tail - an anchor that steadies.  Life can be full of turbulence - broken relationships, sickness, financial collapse, loss of a loved one, inner turmoil, depression, personal disappointments, etc. etc.  To survive the turbulence of life in spiritual wholeness, we need a heavy anchor.  To fly higher in life we need a long tail -  one that will take us higher than we can imagine going.  Anchors and tails should be tied with "granny knots".  (Every Boy Scout knows that granny knots are difficult to untie, which is why the "square knot" is preferred for most uses).  May we anchor our lives, and those of our children, in Heaven, tied with the granny knot of Faith.

I also know this: it was not the wind that broke the little kite's string, it was the cumulative weight of all those balls of twine.  It was her own bondage that kept her from being free, and in the end it was the weight of that bond, broken, that released her.  How often we are bound by our own self-made tethers in life.  We spend years, sadly some even lifetimes, weaving the cords of our own bondage - chains of habits and sin that keep us from being free.  My prayer is that the weight of those bonds will cause breakage and bring freedom.  Whatever it is that brings bondage to your life, break it.  John 8:36.

I do not know the answer to my final question - there is no way for me to know where that kite landed, or even the journey she took to get there.  Perhaps that is the greatest lesson to be learned: we cannot know all the answers.  If I knew where I were to land in life, I might not choose to take the journey.  And if I do not take the journey, I miss the adventure.

Kites are amazing things.