Document Type

Article

Publication Date

Winter 1998

Publication Title

Crazy Horse

Volume

55

First Page

136

Last Page

145

Abstract

When I was a child, I wanted to fly. Not in airplanes, helicopters, hot-air balloons, or rockets, but of my own volition - as birds and bats and butterflies flew. I was envious of their ability to fly out of harm's way at a moment's notice and their defiance of gravity's pull. But most of all I wanted to experience the sensation of flight - the lightness, the uplift of air first beneath my arms as I took off and then beneath my horizontal body. I wanted to roll, dive, rise, and bank. I didn't expect to fly above the clouds. But I did expect to skim the tree tops, to roost on chimneys and steeples, and to glide above my earthbound classmates trudging to school, one foot in front of the other. I wanted to be above it all, even if that meant wind-blown hair, dry eyes, and bugs between my teeth.

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