One of the simple joys that I fondly remember from my childhood in the 1960’s was flying a kite.

April marked National Kite Month, and I eagerly anticipated the cartoon-illustrated safety booklets handed out in elementary school to get us ready for kite flying season.  

A paper kite cost just ten to twenty-five cents, and basic string was about a dime, so even poor kids could afford to fly kites.

There was no need to assemble anything or use batteries, and flying a kite did not require any special skill or physical strength—so even someone as clumsy as I could make it soar among the clouds.

My brother and I spent countless hours flying kites in Marchbank Park, magically located at the end of our block. On occasion my dad would make a kite from a paper bag and bamboo and join us. My father’s kites did not have any cool designs, and the coarse paper prevented them from flying high, but we were thrilled when dad joined us because it was rare for him to spend quality time with us.

You rarely see children flying the simple diamond shaped kites, it is young adults who fly advanced power kites.

People don’t appreciate the simple joy of flying a kite anymore—just look at how the phrase “go fly a kite” is used as slang to tell someone to go away.