Kites are tangible cultural artifacts that most Caribbean islands associate with Easter festivities. My daddy made my kites at home because he was quite the artisan and we didn’t have much money. So, his hands manufactured life like black magic.
A characteristic of our father-daughter relationship is that I observed his skills and hardly ever practiced the concepts with him. But I am an Art teacher today. So maybe witnessing him doing embedded a knowing that I can do to. So on the alter of his doing I left sacrifices of praise and thanks giving as trophies. It was a full worship for his goodness.
My daddy was the best and no store-bought kite would go higher in the park than what we made with love.
love lifted us.
while our poverty emptied any assumption of what, where, and when to buy we made everything spectacular
daddy knowingly made life with the magic two blessed black hands.
He would gather discarded sticks and pretty papers, strings, and nails to make this science project. I watched as he dedicated hours to making things that made me happy. He made me a kite. A kite he would then apply the laws of physics to propel in the air as only he really knew how kits flew. Then when it’s comfortable and air-born I would hold it. As if somehow that was my contribution. To hold what he had made me be. High.
Then, I realize we fly kites to celebrate Christ’s resurrection. Christ-like daddy died paying a price for my life with love. The resurrection tells us that love conquers death. But daddy is just dead. He never got up like Christ. So, I fly kites in remembrance of great love. A love price paid without my work. I guess kites fly on l love. That must be the magic that keeps it in the air.
Photo by Mr. Francis Science Teacher @ WAHS
