I am on Fort Charlotte watching three sisters trying to heist a kite. In this time we live in I cannot watch too closely lest I frighten the girls and their parents. Yet, I take quick glances at the three of them. The oldest about 10-12 is the expert in charge although she is holding the string too short to catch the light breeze blowing on this late summer evening. The middle child is giving suggestions and holds the kite off the ground while her sister prepares to do another run to get it into the air. The youngest who seems to be 4 or 5 is bouncing about excitedly, making frantic grabs for the kite string and enjoying this new adventure to the utmost.
I watch, smile and remember when we would fly kites. My brother would make them from coconut leaf spines, newspaper, sewing thread, flour and water. He would make the kites one day and the glue made from water and flour would have to dry overnight. I’d spend the whole evening asking him if he would allow me to fly his kite until he relented and said yes or my mother got tired and sent us to bed. The thought of being allowed to do something with my brother and his friends (The big boys) was like being allowed into a special club, even if that something was holding a kite string.
Now, I am a man happily watching these children, not with the melancholy happiness that sets in when we remember the things we used to do, instead it is the happiness of watching children be happy, with such a simple thing, as flying kites.