I see children as kites.
You spend a lifetime trying to get them off the ground
You run with them until you are both breathless
They crash, they hit the rooftop
You patch and you comfort
You adjust and you teach
You watch them lifted by the wind and assure them that someday they'll fly
Finally they are airborne, and they need more string and you keep letting it out
But with each twist of the ball of twine there is a sadness that goes with the joy
The kite becomes more distant and you know that it won't be long before that
string will snap and the lifeline that holds you together will no longer be the same
A child, as a kite, must be prepared to soar, as they are meant to soar,
free and alone, to the greatest extent possible
And only then can we collectively say that we have done our job.
(Thanks to Margie Schwenk, my dear friend and fellow college freshman kite flyer -- one of Daniel's special "other moms" and favorite high school teachers -- for sharing this poem with me at just the right time. It helped. Love you...)