Dichotomy: The Optomist and the Realist
A small front made it’s way through our fair city yesterday. Nothing significant. No harsh rains or drastic temperature changes. Nothing inclement. Fair winds and warmer weather. My son bounded through the door, home from his morning kindergarten class and immediately spied the kite. Why it was there or from where it came I’ve no idea. He was a man on a mission. The wind was blowing. We had a kite. It needed flying.
To the yard we ran and in no time Spidey (it was a Spiderman Kite) was sailing above us occasionally looping and dipping only to surge back high above. But not high enough. I instructed Zane to run inside and get the other spool of twine. Two hundred fifty feet is fine, for a beginner. We were seasoned having logged a grand sum of ten minutes. We were going higher. In no time he was back and the extra 500 feet was quickly attached to the end of our line.
We watched in awe as the little blue kite sailed higher and higher. Then, it happened. Stillness. Calm. The wind stopped only for a moment but long enough. Spidey raced head-first towards the ground, twine trailing behind and inevitably looping branches in it’s path. The wind kicked back up and Spidey responded climbing back into the sky oblivious to the fact that midway in the tether there was a snag. Amazingly, the little kite continued its journey upward.
Zia, having been an assistant the entire process began to express concerns about that fact that the kite, though flying, was actually stuck in the tree. Zane would hear none of this talk and continued his dance manipulating the kite with the occasional tug of the string. Unfortunately, at this point in their grand adventure, I had to leave to pick up Zoë from school. Zane and Zia were on their own. Zane assured me he could handle it. Zia said nothing but her eyes rolled in disbelief at Zane’s overconfidence.
As I was returning with Zoë, I spied the little kite swinging from the branches of a tree—beyond the road, across the river from our house. The conversation as relayed by my wife went something like this:
Her: Guys, are you coming in?
Zane: Mom, we’re flying the kite!
Zia: Zane!!! It’s stuck in the tree!
Zane: No! No it’s not. It’s flying. It’s not stuck. (hopeful, tugging at the string now completely slack in his hands)
Significantly long pause——-
Zia: Actually…it is!
