Go Fly a Kite Part 1

Every day little Timmy wanted one thing.

And every day, he always got the same response.

But that didn't stop him from asking with the same enthusiasm, desire and faith it would be different this time!

More attention . . . that's all he wanted-- nothing more, nothing less just some attention from his parents. A six-year-old kindergartener Timmy always couldn't wait to get home. Sure, he would work on his letters, take a nap like the other kids and practice his counting, but he would anticipate the bell to ring and he would run from his classroom to out in front of the school to wait for his Mom.

As soon as he would see his Mom's car, his face would light up with a big grin. Every day the conversation would flow just like clockwork. Almost the same questions and nearly the same responses, but it wasn't what was said that was as important as what it meant . . . just knowing his Mom cared.

His parents loved him deeply, but like so many they found themselves too busy—too busy . . . even for their primary responsibility and ultimate privilege of raising a child.

Timmy didn't get much attention. His Dad was more like a father-- a man obsessed with work and too self-centered to sacrifice any of his free time to be involved. In the time he wasn't working from home, cooped up in his office, he could be found, nine times out of 10, at the local country club on the links.

There were times he would half-ass it with Timmy. Sure there were genuine moments with his son and he did love him . . . he just didn't know how to show it. He grew up with a dad who didn't show much affection, he could count on both hands how many times he heard his dad tell him he loved him and he had a penchant for condescending his son and making him feel so low he could drown in a mud-puddle. If that wasn't bad enough, his father would then taunt him when he would see the tears well up in his eyes. So yeah, you could blame Timmy's Dad, but we all are products of our environment and moldings of our life experiences and sadly not everyone has the strength to transcend the hellish nightmares that were their childhoods.

Timmy’s Mom loved her son so much, but between keeping the house up, being a stay-at-home mom and tending to her infant daughter, she rarely had much time to invest in her little green-eyed brown-haired boy. She was making bottles, changing diapers, feeding Kailee and she was in her arms so much it appeared she had developed a third appendage.

Who knows how many times Timmy had walked into his Dad’s office and asked his Dad to play with him and most of the time his response was, “I would love to, but boy, can’t you see I’m busy? Why don’t you go fly a kite or something?!?”

“My kite is broken Dad,” Timmy would say.

“Maybe we can go to Wal-Mart and get a new one or something?”

“Yeah, maybe so kid. Maybe so. Now go on.”

Every time those words crushed Timmy’s spirit . . . he would be shaken to his very core . . . his little heart broken. He would leave the office and go to his room to play with his toys, but as he walked down the hall, big crocodile tears would flow freely down his office. Sometimes his Mom would see he was upset, sometimes she wouldn’t, but God saw and caught each one.

Other times he would play with Timmy, but it wasn’t really getting down on his son’s level. He was too rigid for that. The little kid inside had died long ago. Instead, his Dad would more or less just watch his son play and talk to him a little bit while he used his vivid imagination. It was more spectating than participating and was mostly done out of obligation to make himself feel better about missing out on so much of his son’s childhood.

He didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to be a Dad and had too pride to try.

Things were different when he would approach his Mom. She would always try to spend time with him, but the truth was she was just too busy. With her husband doing little around the house to pitch in, she was always cleaning, picking up or tending to Kailee, which left little time to play with her son for any substantial amount of time.

Even so, Timmy always appreciated his Mom’s attempts even if it lasted no longer than 10 minutes before she was off to do the next thing on her list. She would make it a point to hug him and tell him how much she loved him before giving him a kiss.  Her kisses always seemed to make everything better.

Timmy always sought his Dad’s approval—something that seemed to elude him with the same frequency as morning Kid Disney, Sprout or Nick Jr. cartoons. Just like clockwork, the love and admiration for his Dad was rarely returned.

He was definitely closer to his Mom, and she was his hero, but he still wanted more of her attention. Then one day, it dawned on him! The kite. The kite was the answer. If he could just get a new kite then maybe his problem would be solved. Surely since his Dad always suggested he should go fly it that, if he got a new one, his Dad would go out in the front yard and help him fly it!

“That’s it. That’s it,” Timmy thought.

If he could just get a kite.

He ran into the kitchen and asked his Mom if he could talk to his Grandmother. She dialed her number and handed her cell phone to Timmy.

“Mamaw, will you take me to get a new kite tomorrow,” he excitedly asked.

“You will. Yes! Thank you so much Mamaw. You’re awesome dude,” Timmy said.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow things would be different. He could hardly wait!