Back in the 1950s, we boys
didn’t get toys except for Christmas or our birthday. However, we asked anyway as no birthdays were
due for many months.
“Can we buy a kite?” Marvin asked
Mom.
“Sure, ask for one for your
birthday in September.”
“Can’t we get one now?”
“If you want to spend your own
money” Our money was exclusively from
depression-fresh aunts and uncles who
thought it was extravagant to give us a dime for a birthday or a nickel for
Christmas, which we spent immediately on
candy the next trip to town.
We asked Dad next. “You don’t
need to buy a kite. You can make one yourselves. All you need it two crossed sticks, some
paper and string and maybe some rags for the tail. When I was a kid during the depression, my
five brothers and I made every toy we had!
You don’t know how nice you boys have it getting things for your
birthday and Christmas. Why I remember
one year I only had one penny to spend all year long and saved it for the whole
year until I got another one next year and then put both of them in the
collection plate at church. Kids
now-a-days just don’t know how easy they have it. Why onetime we…”
We quickly retreated, already callous to
stories about the bad old days. We had examined Jame ’s kite carefully and
realized Dad was right. We found two
light sticks from a nearby tree; cut a string groove on each end and used a
Scout lashing from Boy’s Life Magazine.
I had bought a whole year’s worth at the annual Presbyterian Church
rummage sale in town the previous fall for 10 cents. The Presbyterian kids threw away things that we
poor Methodist never got if not at the sale.
The Coop store gave us 10 feet
of waxed white butcher paper just for asking.
Mom helped us cut it into
the diamond shaped kite outline with a
little extra to fold over the string and secure it with cellophane tape. Great Grandma, who saved everything, loaned
us a ball of string full of knots holding smaller pieces together. I emphasize loaned—as she expected it back or
at least the pieces bigger than 5 inches.
We tied strings from the four corners to the center and to the string
ball. We strung a 10-foot tail with small rags from an old diaper ( our
youngest brother Byron was giving them up that spring) and took it out for a
try.
There was some wind from the
west; at least as much as Jame ’s
kite had needed to soar. We took turns
running across the open cow pasture trying to get it up, dodging the freshest
cow pies. It rose 10 feet up as long as
we were running full speed, but crashed back to the ground as soon as we
stopped.
“We’ll have to wait for a
tornado to get it up” panted Everett
after his run.
Dad looked it over. “Your idea is right. Just make every part of it lighter.” Sure enough, with lighter sticks, split and
whittled thin from a jackpine board, the dry cleaner plastic that came back
over Dad’s Sunday suit, and more plastic pieces for the tail (plastic sheeting
was still quite rare in those days), we made the first of many kites that
soared high above the farm yard. We
found we could use our casting rods and reels as kite string holders and
controllers. Dad’s dry cleaner gave us
extra plastic bags when he found out we were using them for kites (he was our
supplier next year when we learned how to make hot air balloons from the same
drycleaner bags).
Years later when I had my own
job, I bought many kites; cheap ones; fancy ones, big ones and little ones. I
have two new ones in my cabin now just waiting for the right day. None of the bought ones were nearly as
satisfying those homemade ones of 50 years ago.
