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Flying Kites and the Weekend

As a twenty-something year old, I have an uncanny affection for kite-flying. The love began in high school, when I was introduced to kite flying through my friend M. We followed the directions and built the kite with our own hands. We took our handiwork to the park. My first time kite flying, my approach basically involved running around until the kite picked up the wind. My technique, apparently, was not the orthodox way to fly a kite. Nevertheless, we relished the beauty of that day.

Since 2006, I've asked others to fly kites with me. I've asked other members of my family. Today, I didn't ask anyone. I brought the kites-which my mother carefully brought from Bangladesh in her overstuffed luggage, a least a thousand miles away--and I tied the appropriate knots. My cousins who had many opportunities to fly kites in their youth, showed me the proper way to release and control the kite. We successfully got the kite to go as high as our house but the kite's time in the air was limited. After using their methods for a good 30 minutes, I tried it my way. I began to run. I ran around the house with my kite, and let the string go slowly, as the kite picked up speed. Soon the kite exceeded the height of the house by several dozen feet. It soared above me, and my cousins, and I called my family to come see. I photographed my success.

My cousin and I kept looking around for Dad's purple car. We wanted him to fly the kite, but unfortunately, he did not come home until our kite had lodged itself in trees around our house. It was amazing that both of us wanted to share the glorious height and the corresponding feeling of exuberance with Dad. That's what we talked about: "I wish Dad was here." "Yeah, I keep looking for his car." Every car that drove down our street, we thought it would be Dad driving into the driveway. To anticipate Dad's arrival filled me with gratitude.

When Dad came home from shopping, he strategically got the kite out of the tree. My approach, again unorthodox and ineffective, involved throwing a football at the tree to shake the kite loose. Dad's approach was to wind the thread until the kite just fell out of the tree, and to cut the thread. It was instinctive for Dad, whereas my cousins and I didn't know what to do except wait for him.

It was a tiring and wonderful afternoon spent flying kites.

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