An empty table next to the kids provided a perfect place to fold. It was also between the children and me, providing the father with a barrier of safety for the children if he felt it was needed. Looking down at the table, I took a chance, “Paper airplanes?”
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The father didn’t respond, but didn’t object either. The children just stood there, but their heads seemed to turn just a little bit in my direction. I made the first couple of folds. With a glance toward the kids, I said, “Look at this: what’s it look like now?” No answer. With exaggerated enthusiasm, my words came out a little louder than expected, “A house, doesn’t it?” Still no response, but at least the kids no longer looked dead. Next fold, “Now what’s it look like?” Desperate, I called out, “An envelope, right?” The little girl came alive and called out, “No, a flat house.” Whoops, “Oh yeah, right, a flat house—of course.”
A single glance from the father suggested a growing interest on his part. The kids gathered around the table; the plane was ready. The beautiful little girl picked it up and sent it on its way to a crash on the floor just as a big woman was rolling her laundry cart toward it. The loud silence ended when the cart and her clunky shoes missed squishing it into the entrance carpet. The three-year-old darted to it. Grabbing it, he sent it on a long perfect glide that had all of us stunned. Even the father’s expression turned to a look of amazement.
The six-year-old retrieved the plane and with a mighty heave sent it high above the machines past the TV where it fell far out of reach behind the flowerpots. “Uh-oh!” All three heads spun around toward me with the “What’s he going to say now?” look. “Well, that’s the neat thing about paper airplanes, plenty more from where that one came from.”
The father didn’t respond, but didn’t object either. The children just stood there, but their heads seemed to turn just a little bit in my direction. I made the first couple of folds. With a glance toward the kids, I said, “Look at this: what’s it look like now?” No answer. With exaggerated enthusiasm, my words came out a little louder than expected, “A house, doesn’t it?” Still no response, but at least the kids no longer looked dead. Next fold, “Now what’s it look like?” Desperate, I called out, “An envelope, right?” The little girl came alive and called out, “No, a flat house.” Whoops, “Oh yeah, right, a flat house—of course.”A single glance from the father suggested a growing interest on his part. The kids gathered around the table; the plane was ready. The beautiful little girl picked it up and sent it on its way to a crash on the floor just as a big woman was rolling her laundry cart toward it. The loud silence ended when the cart and her clunky shoes missed squishing it into the entrance carpet. The three-year-old darted to it. Grabbing it, he sent it on a long perfect glide that had all of us stunned. Even the father’s expression turned to a look of amazement.The six-year-old retrieved the plane and with a mighty heave sent it high above the machines past the TV where it fell far out of reach behind the flowerpots. “Uh-oh!” All three heads spun around toward me with the “What’s he going to say now?” look. “Well, that’s the neat thing about paper airplanes, plenty more from where that one came from.”
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- Posted by arthurstrock
- Jan 12, 2017
- Comments (5)
