Flight

Never pass up the opportunity to swing. One of my many maxims. Whenever we're out walking the dog and pass by the neighborhood park, we'll let Bella off the leash to explore and take a few minutes to swing. With each arc comes a liberating sense of freedom. I'm usually able to get really high, pumping my legs faster and faster. Then, when I've gotten as high as I possibly can, the thought pops into my head.

Jump!

Why is the thought so compelling? Launch yourself out of that black plastic seat and into the air. Sail up into the branches of the trees.

Fly!

As a kid, I did this pretty often. For one brief moment, I'd experience the exhilaration of flight, poised with my arms raised, before gravity took hold and pulled me back to earth. I'd land painfully, twisting skinny ankles or tearing up my knobby knees. Once I even landed flat on the ground, knocking the breath right out of me.

I'm older and wiser now. I don't jump. But I can see the thought is not far from the mind of the child swinging next to me. "Don't jump, Sport. You'll break your glasses."

His mouth widens into a grin. I know he's going to do it anyway, so I don't watch. The next thing I know, he's dusting himself off before running back to do it again.

LegoGuy has always been interested in flying. When he was barely 3, he'd spend lots of time drawing pictures of his favorite superhero, Superman. He'd meticulously ink in a black curl on Superman's forehead, and a beautiful red cape. At night, he would pray, "Please God, let me fly."

There are plenty of stories about gullible children, seduced by Superman stories, tying towels around their shoulders and jumping off roofs, only to break their legs. I'd patiently tell LegoGuy that due to the laws of gravity, people cannot fly. We are simply too heavy. That's why we invented airplanes.

"But God could make me fly, if He wanted to." LegoGuy was adamant.

"Honey, God is not going to suspend the laws of gravity just for you."

So LegoGuy's never tried to leap from the roof and take off into the air. But shortly after this conversation, I took him to a nearby airport. This place had a great little diner. It served pancakes and cinnamon rolls. Pilots flew in for breakfast, parking their private planes nearby. LegoGuy was mesmerized. After about half an hour, a man came over to talk to us. He and his son had flown in from who knows where, and had been watching us from the diner window while they ate. "How 'bout we take this boy for a ride?" the pilot asked.

My first thought was: He'll take us up and throw me out of the window over Lake Hefner, then sell LegoGuy on the black market to some desperate, childless couple. But his son was staying behind, and I doubted the pilot had ulterior motives. This is Oklahoma, after all, and most Okies are above the board, kind and generous. Mostly.

So we went up. LegoGuy wouldn't crack a smile, but that was because he was focusing intently on what he was seeing. The pilot even let him take the wheel for a moment, and it was an amazing moment.

Now, LegoGuy talks about joining the Air Force. He wants to be a pilot so he can fly, defy the laws of gravity, and seek the face of God.

As for me, I'll stick to swinging. Maybe I'll risk a little jump every once in awhile, just to keep me young.