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Learning to Fly

My daughter learned to fly today. She told me all about it from the back seat of the car as we drove home from Santa Barbara.

Jasmine will turn six on Wednesday and she has a limitless imagination. As she babbled on telling me all the different ways she could attach wings, balloons and countless other apparatus, I had to smile. I can remember flying when I was her age.

I was born in Ohio 40 years ago. In those days before cable and satellite, we had a large antenna to bring the wonders of broadcast into our home. A dusty silver triangular ladder anchored in concrete supported the antenna above the roof. For someone convinced that she was Underdog, the temptation was obvious. I can distinctly remember tying a blue blanket around my neck and scrambling up that ladder to take flight.

Fortunately for me, we lived in a one-story house and some flowering oleander bordering the lawn was there to break my fall. Unfortunately for me, oleander tends to scratch. A lot. My physical flight ended badly that day. But my flights of imagination still encourage me to believe in the impossible.

I'm glad my daughter is learning to fly. I hope she never stops reaching for the sky. Flying is the greatest feeling in the world, and I'll always be here to catch her if she falls.