Kids are Like Kites
Maggie Fimia 9/19/13 Revised 5/22/19
In 1982, when I was pregnant with Chelsea Anne, I found myself at Jones Beach, Long Island on a beautiful, cold, blustery day in February. I was visiting with my childhood friend Clare. She brought her kite.
We bundled up to brave the wind. The beach was magical despite the cold; the sky a bright, deep blue; the sunlight bounced off the waves.
It was not an easy task for us to assemble the kite in the wind. It fought any attempts at harnessing and longed to be flying as high as it could, as fast as it could.
We finally got it tamed and as Clare hung on to the spindle of twine, I ran into the wind, carrying the kite above my head. This is not easy when you’re seven months pregnant.
The wind was powerful. The kite flew up out of my hands, the spindle burned in Clare’s hands as it unraveled. The palms of her hands were on fire and her fingers instinctively let go. We watched helplessly as the kite flew up and up and disappeared into the cobalt abyss.
Kids are like kites. Families are like tethers.
A kite is most beautiful when it is soaring and swooping and reflecting the light from the sun. It is both a part of you and not a part of you. It’s exhilarating when you have to squint to see it because the light is so bright. But it can reach those heights safely only when it is grounded by something or someone. Otherwise, it’s at the mercy of the wind which can take it anywhere and doesn’t care about what happens to it.
We were left standing asking, “Where did it go? Has it crashed into the sea or against a cliff? Will we ever see it again?”
Kids are like kites because they often think families are trying to hold them back when we are actually trying to help them soar without being lost. What helps a child soar? What helps a child or whole families from being lost to the ravaging winds? It’s other family members, extended family, even just knowledge of family. It’s values, pride, love, accomplishments and discipline. It’s having a context for your life that only comes with knowledge of family history, the good and the sad.
After almost 70 years of paying attention, it is clear to me that if one string is good, many strings are better in this whirlwind we call life. We can never have enough people cheering us upward or enough knowledge about our strengths and weaknesses when the storm gets brutal and relentless.
“You’re grounded!” I firmly tell Chelsea, years later as she pulls against the tether, testing my will, my strength to keep her flying but safe.
But also…“You’re grounded,” when we look at pictures of her ancestors and she hears their stories. “You’re grounded,” we show her, as we visit with aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins.
“You’re grounded,” I tell her proudly, as I watch her walk across the stage to accept her diploma, graduating in the top of her college class or when she beams as she shows me the kid-centered classroom she calls “River” where she’s a teacher for preschoolers immersed in hands on learning through doing.
And now, at thirty-six, she really is soaring… but safe.
