Give ’em String

Sending them off, and having the courage to let them fly.

My wife came through the door and made an announcement: “Everybody outside! I’ve bought kites, and we’re going to have fun!”

I did my best to pretend I didn’t hear her, only to find her standing in front of me with that look on her face.

“You said you were the Kite-Expert growing up. Get out here and help us.”

Twenty minutes later, I got up from the couch, and walked to the back window to watch. They were helpless.

“OK,” I sighed. “Time to step in.”

For the next hour, the four of us fought valiantly with two Stealth Fighter bat kites to achieve anything that resembled flight. The strong breezes would come and go, and so would our hopes. We would get one up, only to see the other one fall. I would wearily jog out towards the fallen bird, fifty yards of kite-string tangling around my feet, silently cursing the entire affair.

It was hot. The kids were tired and frustrated. The wife was looking at me from across the field, reading my mind. I hate when she reads my mind.

“What is the point?” I thought. I’ve sweated right through my shirt. There was a perfectly good ballgame on inside that I was missing. Our boys could care less about flying kites. And even if we did get them up, they probably wouldn’t appreciate it, because it didn’t involve a handheld controller and headset where they could talk to their friends about what ammo to trade.

“Too much work,” I concluded.

As I began to head for the house, I heard a shout.

“It’s up! Hey Dad! It’s up! Help me!”

I ran over to my son, and instead of following my natural instincts to take the kite from him and take command, stopped and calmly said, “Good. Let it go and give it some string.”

Slowly, he unwound the roll, and as the wind overtook us, we stood and watched as the fragile piece of plastic rose. Higher it climbed, once or twice twisting, then turning downward, threatening to come crashing down.

“Steady,” I whispered. “Keep giving it string. Feed it. Let the wind take it where it wants to go. You’ve got this now.”

And just like that, in a matter of seconds, we all watched as it turned into a tiny speck and gained perfect control.

Soon, both were up, dancing across a blue backdrop. We all stood in amazement and watched as they touched the clouds and chased the sun…In our minds, anyway.

Raising kids is a lot like flying kites.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been talking with a trusted friend who has already gotten a few kids of his own over the bar, asking advice, expressing my fears and worries for what may be waiting just up the road.

“I am scared my boys will repeat the same mistakes I made when I was a teenager,” I told him. “I failed miserably when I was in high school. I was not prepared. I made bad choices. I did not have the maturity to comprehend what I needed to do…I cannot allow that to happen to them. They absolutely cannot follow in my footsteps.”

“What has been your secret?” I begged.

“Give them some string,” he said. “Allow them to fly.”

He didn’t have to say another word.

I spent many long afternoons as a youngster with a role of kite string burning my fingers, dog-fighting other neighborhood kids. We used to duct-tape razor blades to the edges of the frames, get ’em up quickly, and have it out. I learned all of the secrets to reinforcing a .99 cent M.E. Moses bat-kite to withstand the slashes. I became an expert at maneuvering, stunts, flying high, flying low, creating dives and recovering from out-of-control free falls. Just thinking about those long ago days gets my heart pounding.

But I also learned how to appreciate the pure enjoyment of being all alone in a field, just you and the kite, three rolls of twine tied together, fighting a breezeless day for hours in search of the sky, for it always seemed to be the less windy days that made for the highest climbs. Oh, it took work. There were countless failed attempts. But it was the pursuit of silent, cloud-touching heights, the vision of your tiny yellow and black triangular speck so high into the blue that you could barely see it anymore that kept you from quitting. The idea of finally catching that elusive magical stream of wind, and having the courage to give it string.

And once you found it, the inevitable neighborhood friends who would see it from blocks away, follow it, and come find you, standing silently next to you with their heads craned way back with yours, eyes squinted, whispering, “Cooooool.”

It was the pure satisfaction, the pride, the beauty of the entire experience that made all of the frustration and fight worth it.

But when trying to fly a kite, there were a few things that never worked. I remember the harder I tried, the more I tried to control it, to keep it close and force it to obey my every pull and jerk, the more I crashed, as if it were fighting me. Yet the more I relaxed and invited patience, the more it seemed to understand me. Tough things to remember when pursuing great heights.
And the ultimate #1 kite-flying-rule to remember, the absolute guaranteed recipe for disaster and failure: staying on the couch and never going outside to try.

My boy begins high school tomorrow.

I know that I am not the only one sitting here tonight wondering and worrying what tomorrow morning will be like for their child as they take another giant step into life and away from us. I won’t be the only parent tonight who will turn out the lights and offer up prayers for successful flight.

My natural instinct is to grab ahold of him, wrap him up tight in my arms as I once did when he was little, and protect him. To tell him to be careful and warn him of the dangers and traps I once got tangled up in. To control his flight and keep him close. To not allow him to go too far or try to climb too high. The wind can be fierce. String breaks. Trees eat kites!

But then I would never get to see him fly. I would never get to see him touch the clouds or chase the sun…in my mind anyway. Or anybody else’s.

Every now and then, a parent must stop and remember all of the work and love that has already been put into the endeavor, and trust the wind.

And once they are up, once all of the frustrations and failures and doubts are forgotten and left so far down on the ground that they can barely be seen, to dare to give them string.

The sky is all yours, Luke.