We spend years trying to get them off the ground. We run with them until you are both breathless. They crash … they hit the roof , we patch, comfort and assure them that someday they will fly.

Finally, they are airborne. They need more string, and we keep letting it out. They tug, and with each twist of the twine, there is sadness that goes with joy.

The kite becomes more distant, and we know it won’t be long before that beautiful creature will snap the lifeline that binds you together and it will soar as it is meant to soar – free and alone.

Only then do we know that we have done our job.

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