Learning to fly

[fbhjr]

Back when I was in first grade I went to a school about ½ mile from where
we lived. I walked to school each day, up hill, both ways. (It was on a
hill, our house was on a hill. To be fair, out house wasn’t on much of a
hill. But, I like saying up hill both ways…)

One fall afternoon our teachers told us there was a hurricane coming and
school was being let out. Storm prediction wasn’t what it is now. When
they said the hurricane was coming, they meant it we were on the outer edge
of it and it was already raining out.

The school had tried to call parents to come get us, but my mother was off
somewhere and couldn’t be reached. (Well before cellphones.) So, I
started walking home. There was only one major road to cross and when I
got there, the crossing guard was not there. (It was several hours earlier
than her normal shift.)
In my 5 year old mind, there was one rule very clear. I was not to cross
this road alone. It was the boundary of where I could roam. That far, not
past without help crossing. And, even with my normal roaming are just on
the other side of the road, I was not to cross.

Back at the school there had been a crossing guard for this street instead
of where I usually crossed. So, I walked back there. The woman helped me
across the road, but wouldn’t let me walk down the other side of the road
because there was no sidewalk on that side.

So, I had to go down that side street instead of the one on which I lived.
The storm was getting worse. I didn’t want to be out in it.
I knew I could walk down this side street, across on the next main street,
then back up another side street to get where I wanted to go. This would
mean walking along three sides of the square instead of my one.
But, not seeing a choice, I set off.

I got to the other main street, and started walking down it. Where I had
been walking into the wind before, now I was walking across it. There were
gusts that literally picked me up and blew me across people’s yards as I
walked along.
There was one yard where it did that three times; blowing me through the
air into the bushes in front of the house. I’d trudge back to the side
walk and start walking again. (Cutting across people’s yards was bad. You
had to walk on the sidewalk.)

As the walk was three times longer, and I wasn’t making good time, it gave
my mother time to come home, find out I had been let out of school and
panic. She became convinced that I had been brought home by one of my
classmates parents. She started driving around banging on people’s doors,
demanding they give her son back.

She was doing this when she caught up with me on the side of the road. I
was within sight of the house when she did. But, I was glad to be
“rescued” from the storm.
She felt bad enough for me she gave me my birthday present even though it
was more than a month early.

I’ve never forgotten the feeling of being blown through the air that way.
It still shows up in my dream from time to time, even though it’s almost 40
years ago.
When I dream about it, it has that same feeling. More of falling sideways
then any kind of real flight.

Ever since then I’ve felt that I shouldn’t have fought it. I should have
just let it carry me off. It was blowing towards my house, so I might even
have been brought home. (It never did more than lift me off my feet. I
could not have flow the few blocks. And, if it had happened, landing would
have been problematical. But, this is how it feels.)

Riding my bike home just before the rain last night reminded me of this.
The “get home before the storm” and an increasing wind sideways across me.
In some ways, I’d like another shot at it. But, it would take a lot more
wind these days.