Heading toward the horizon
Soon after starting school, I was taught to read. We learned about that dysfunctional family: Dick, Jame, Sally, Spot and a few other characters, all introduced through a limited vocabulary. The deal was that once you could understand those simple texts, you were considered as literate. In the next step, you got a reader, with a few dozen poems, short stories, long stories, life lessons. The book was big enough to require two hands, and many in the class would never read more than a brief sample of the tales. I read them all. In the first month. It was my thing.
There were illustrations, and from one, I learned all I needed to know about kites. I even went so far as to attempt construction, using a surplus window shade. It never flew, which acquainted me with the difference between form and function. The tail was left to my imagination, and I wonder if my mother ever missed that pillow case.
I did learn about kites, going forward. Someone in university had a nice one, which he brought to the beach. One of the girls in our group asked to have control, on a windy day. Lasted about ten seconds, and then we watched the kite sail north, towards those other islands that are several sailing hours distant. We were too polite to ask the owner if he intended to purchase another.
I did get my own kite, a couple of years later. Given to me by a gas station, to advertise their brand. We took it out on the big boat, and tied it off to a rope hold. It flew well, and would stay in the air unattended. When another boat came alongside to learn if we were in distress or danger, I realized that some things are just not done.
Later after that, I moved on to other interests. Kites are fun, for a few minutes, but the challenge is diminished once you get it airborne. Never tried to fly it during a thunderstorm, in case you are curious.
