When I was still a kid, I used to say I would like to be a pilot when I grew up whenever people asked me what would I like to be in the future. I was in grade school, a 1st grade, when our teacher asked us to make an essay of our ultimate dreams and as an additional assignment, we have to make a representation of that dream and will be passed the next day.
That time I still do not know how to make paper airplanes. But I know someone who can perfectly make them, my older brother. Unfortunately he was studying in another country that time and the other option left for me is to ask my father. But no, at my young age, I know my father wouldn't bother helping me out because it is a popular discussion in our house how busy my father was, how he worked almost 24 hours a day and how my mother would complain about him being work-addict. And my dream of having my father even on a short conversation is far from coming true.
The last resort I have is to make a plane from my own effort, my own experimentation. So I snatch a few pieces out bond paper out of my mother's home office and started building my own paper plane. It took me over 3 hours and at least 50 papers before I finally settled on a poor but flying paper in a shape of an airplane. I went to our veranda and threw it outside to see if it will fly on a open field. Unexpectedly, it landed on my fathers coffee on the table while he is busily reading his morning new paper.
He crashed it and called me down. I was shivering thinking he will scold me. Instead, he told me to get a new paper and stated he will make me the best flying paper plane ever. We did it together, we had fun making it.
The poor paper plane was crashed but a new and a better one was created. And my paper dreams of being close to my father came true. Until now I still make paper planes the way my father taught me. And up until now, these planes I made are the best flying planes I've ever seen. The best, just like my father.
No trackbacks.
Comments
