After our last meeting I went home and on the computer it said something about kites. A memory from years and years ago popped in my head. It was about 1946 and I was 8 years old when I heard my parents talking about a kite. Mom said she had some string she had saved off packages all tied together. Also she had some glue, but couldn’t get the top off. Dad said he would go over to the lumber yard and get some scrap wood. My job? Find some newspaper. I walked down to the fire station. Most every day when I was coming back from the post office, I’d stop by the fire station. They were usually washing the truck or reading the paper. They had the whole Sunday paper. Dad would be so happy. He had given up his only Saturday off in a long time, just to build a kite.
Dad was trimming the wood when I got back. Mom started cutting out the paper.
Mom asked me, “Have you ever seen a box kite?” “No,” I said.
I looked at my dad and he was putting notches in the wood for the string to go through. A short time later, he had the frame of the kite made. Mom had cut out the classifieds, the headlines, the local news, and the funnies. Dad got the top off the old glue bottle and they glued the paper to the frame.
It had to dry overnight. The next morning (after church) we headed for the beach. Dad held the kite and Mom pulled the string. The kite went up and up. People on the beach yelled and clapped. Mom was almost out of string. She let me hold it, but it would almost pull me over. I was happy to stand on the beach and watch the “Beautiful Box Kite.”