Harold’s Story

Hi, my name is Harold and I am a kite.  Not your ordinary kite like the one some little boy flies, like Charlie Brown, that gets caught in a tree every time he flies it!  No, I have an extraordinary story to tell you, so listen up!

Timmy made me when he was a Boyscout, for a merit badge, he was twelve.  He did a good job too, my frame is of oak strips with a waterproof fabric for my wing and waxed string that ties my parts together, so I’m very weather resistant.

Well, as with most children, Timmy grew up into Tim and was getting ready to go off to college.  I had been hanging on the wall of his bedroom for the past 6 years, languishing and pretty much forgotten except for the occasional look he’d give me, until one windy afternoon, he got me down for one last run before he left for college and a new chapter in his life.

We went to the park for one last run on this windy afternoon as a thunderstorm was moving in.  Tim let out a lot of line and I was soaring high, having a great time swaying and dipping, when to my amazement, the string broke.

Instead of losing my altitude or getting blown into a tree, I bowed myself up, flexed my wing and soared higher still.  In retrospect, I must have caught a Trade Wind, because, before I knew it I was out over the Atlantic and having a ball.

I have no idea how high I got, not needing oxygen, I had no fear of getting too high and blacking out, so I just went with the flow.

Somewhere over the Mediterranean Sea, I picked up a Westerlie, which turned me slightly south and centered me over the island of Madagascar.  I ended up on a baobab tree in Ambohimanga, its like a royal cemetery outside Antananarivo, the capital city.

I am very happy here, I can pick up a good breeze that lets me soar above the royal palaces and burial grounds AND I can see the lemurs playing in the rainforest. 

I have to thank Tim for making me so well and I wish him well in his adulthood, I really don’t think he will miss me much, but I am not focusing on him now.  I am having too much fun soaring into the warm breezes over Madagascar and learning how to flex my wing so that I can do dipsy doodles and figure eights in the sun, then alight back on my baobab tree when it is time to rest.

Well, thanks for listening and I hope that your childhood might have given life to something that was important to you when you needed it! 

If you get to Madagascar, watch for me in the sky over the “Avenue of the Baobabs”.   

Veloma or 

au revoir!

Harold