Sunday Scribblings: Wings

The first image of "wings" that came to mind was of the little plastic wings that the pilot would give to me when I was a young traveler. I was fascinated by those wings. I would find my seat, settle in and pin them on to my cute little sweater. Back in those days, my mother would dress me in the most girlie clothes around. After two boys, she was delighted to finally have a daughter to dress and have fun with in ways that only a mother and daughter can do. When the engines were running full speed and the plane began to zoom down the runway, I felt like I was in the belly of an enormous metal bird flying over the earth to destinations unknown. It was so thrilling. When I was approaching high school graduation, I announced that I wanted to be a flight attendant. My parents steered me towards college. I have no regrets. I remember my father saying that I should get my degree first and if I still had a desire to work for the airlines I could always go back to it. I sometimes wonder what it would have been like if I had chosen that path.

When my husband left in 2004, I inherited a big remote controlled airplane in the divorce. I decided to go ahead and learn how to fly it. I was the first female in an all-men's radio controlled airplane club. The day that I walked up to the open field with my application in one hand and my plane trailing behind, I thought those men were going to fall out of their lawn chairs. I remember standing out on the field during those lessons and connecting so deeply with my plane as it soared through the open air. It made me wish for my own wings to take me up high and far away. It reminded me of my favorite Robert Frost poem, "Birches":

I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate wilfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree~
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Last week, my instructor died of pancreatic cancer. His funeral is today. He flew remote controlled airplanes for over 50 years. He was a wonderful man and a patient teacher. My plane had more than it's share of crashes in to the bushes. Yet, he continued to encourage me that this was not just a man's sport and that I could do it if I put my mind to it. I picture him right now with his own pair of wings circling over the air field and looking down at all of us doing what he so loved.