The Kite
Antonio woke up one morning and put on his 100-year-old shoes. The shoes had been passed down from generation to generation. First to great grandfather, then his grandmother, and his father before him. They were leather and strong. Each time they were passed down in the family, the significance of the shoes grew. It was also said that his great-great grandfather was seven years old when he first wore them. That is why the shoes were presented to Antonio on his seventh birthday. His father had given a long speech, and his mother watched with pride, as he tried on the 100-year-old shoes. They fit perfectly. To celebrate, he and his father left the house and went to participate in their village’s favorite activity – kite flying.
It was a year since that great day and Antonio had decided to honour it when he rose from his bed. The morning light had a blue hue as Antonio put on his 100-year-old shoes. He had grown since he first put them on, and they no longer comfortably fit him. But that did not bother him, they were his shoes, and his family’s shoes.
Antonio carefully took his kite down from the shelf, ensuring the kite line did not get tangled, or worse, accidently cut. His father’s words passed through his head; “Antonio, it is all in the kite line. If you treat it well, you will have a successful day. Never let the kite line get tangled as you are carrying your kite. And never allow it to be severed, or else you will lose your kite into the wind.” So, Antonio did as father had taught him. He tied his kite to his back and held the wooden kite spool with the precious kite line in his right hand. He quietly left his house and headed up the mountain to the plateau.
The green plateau was where all the other kids flew their kites. Every day, after breakfast was eaten and small chores completed, the plateau was filled with children from all over the village, flying their kites. Some said it was because of the plateau that Kite flying had become so popular in their village, others said the location for the village was chosen because it was such a good place to fly kites. Antonio did not know which story to believe. He did not care. He was just happy to have the plateau to fly his kite.
Antonio followed the path that began behind their house. It cut through the short spring grass and led up to the plateau. After two hundred paces he stopped. He had known this path his whole life. He knew if he stopped where the path slightly curved around ‘The bread Stone’, he could look over his left shoulder and see the village and mill below. He had not looked from the Bread Stone since last autumn, since the day father had died. His father worked at the Mill and had an awful accident. No one ever told Antonio the details. All he knew, one day his father did not come home from work and his whole world had changed. And for a short while after the accident, he believed his mother would never stop crying. It was only recently that she did, and sometimes, when she looked at Antonio, she would even have a smile. So, on this day, when he reached the Bread Stone, he knew he had to turn and look below. He did for a brief moment. To his relief he saw no changes and continued upward.
When Antonio arrived at the plateau it was empty and peaceful. He stopped in the middle of the green grass and turned his face in each direction, as his father had shown him, to feel the direction of the wind. Each time they would go to the plateau, his father would remind him, “When the wind freshens your face, turn 180 degrees, and put your back to the wind. Only then can you begin to fly your kite.” But on this day there was little wind to freshen his face.
Antonio stood still and thought about his problem. How could he fly his kite if he had no wind? Then he thought about the bigger kids from the Village. The ones just a little older than him. How they would not stop climbing at the plateau and continued to climb to the summit. Once at the top, they would find a place on the small patch of earth to fly their kites. It was so small at the top, only four or five kids could fly their kites at the same time. Some would even sit on boulders and appear as if they were fishing in the sky. It was a challenge to climb so high, but it guaranteed wind and much admiration.
Antonio knew what he had to do. He too would have to climb the summit to fly his kite. He did not mind that there was no one to witness and admire his reaching the summit. He just wanted to see his kite soar in the sky.
Antonio took a deep breath and thought about his father for courage as he crossed the plateau to the bottom of the summit.
“When you are older Antonio, I will take you up there.” His father had once said, while pointing to the summit.
“Really? You have gone to the top before, Papa?” Antonio had remembered being in disbelief that his father had climbed to the top.
“Yes Antonio, many times. You know, I used to be a youngster too.”
Antonio looked down at his 100-year-old shoes. He thought about how many times the shoes must have climbed the summit before this day. Surely, the same shoes were on his father’s feet when he climbed to the top. For all he knew, all the generations before him wore them to the top as well. He hoped his shoes knew the way to the top by now, as he saw no clear path up.
Antonio chose the place that he believed best suited him. Then he embarked on his climb. Each rock, boulder, edge, and ledge presented a new problem. After a few challenges, he quickly found his climbing technique. Antonio would place both his hands onto a higher surface. Then he would in one motion hop and swing one of his legs onto the same surface. He would then find himself lying on his belly on the next level. Afterwards, he would carefully rise, being mindful not to cut the kite line he held in his right hand, and then examine his next challenge.
He hopped, swung, and rose, over and over again. By the time he reached the top, the sun had chased away the morning mist and a fresh wind had dried the rocks.
Antonio looked down at the village and the mill. All the buildings and roads appeared so small to him. He had never seen them that way before. Even the other kids, who had now arrived at the Plateau, seemed small to him. Then he lifted his head and looked to the horizon. He could see all the peaks of all the mountains in an endless distance. He had never seen so far before either. Antonio noted his world had shrunk and expanded in the same moment – and a small smile grew on his face.
Alone with the wind, he placed one knee on the ground and carefully put the kite spool down. He then slowly and consciously removed his kite from his back. Antonio then unrolled the thin sail wrapped around the kite’s spine and put the cross-spar in place. “Creating a holy-cross” his father had aways said. His father would then follow with a frantic movement across, and up and down, his own chest. Antonio always dutifully did the same motion, just as he did that sunny morning.
Then Antonio unravelled the tail and ensured his kite line was attached to the bridle line. He then rose up with his kite in his left hand and the spool of string in his right. He searched for the wind with his face; it was now easy to find; it came from the direction of the village. He turned to have his back towards the wind, and gently released his kite. First it flew fiercely, rapidly tacking back and forth. Then the tacks became slower and more graceful as Antonio unleashed the line. He had never seen his kite so high. All the mountain peaks in the distance disappeared, as did the village below. All he could see was his kite in the blue sky.
Antonio continued to let the line out. As he felt in his hand the kite line coming to an end, to his own surprise, he decided to let the kite go. He watched proudly as his kite soared further away, flying higher and farther than he had seen any kite fly before.
He smiled and thought of his father. He knew his father would have laughed and said “Antonio, you are a mysterious one.”
When the kite had flown so far he could no longer see it, he said a bye-bye to his Papa. He breathed the mountain air and turned to descend from the summit’s peak. Rock by rock, boulder by boulder, Antonio followed the path his 100-year-old shoes chose for him.
When he got home, he hugged his mom, gave her his shoes, and said “Momma, I think I need a new pair of shoes, and a new kite.”
The End