Funny how sometimes memories are triggered by unexpected things. I was browsing some of the blogs I follow the other night when I came across a post on Gaelikaa's diary about kites and how her son loves them and it brought me back to a time when my Dad made me a kite.
Dad was a commercial taveller - a salesman these days - for a paper merchant company and we were never short of stuff for school, pens, pencils, paper, lunch bags. You name it and Dad would bring it home.
I must have been around five or six and Dad decided that he would build me a kite. He got two bits of one inch square timber, somehow fastened them together with string and no matter how tight he tied them they still moved around.
He then got some heavy thick brown paper which he drew a face on with the Derwent pencils he'd appropriated and glued it to the timber cricifix. After punching a hole through the nose on the face he then tied on heavy twine and finally a tail made out of ripped up material. I don't remember what it was he ripped up but knowing Dad, it was probably a dozen pair of old y-front undies.
I swear when it was finished it must have weighed about 10 kilos. Still, we ran up and down the street for hours and every time we launched it into the air, it crashed straight back down to the ground. The paper tore, the frame loosened and splintered and the only time it got more than 6 inches off the ground was when we threw it as high as we could. It was completely devoid of any aero dynamic properties and proved that a kite didn't have to fly to be fun because it didn't matter, he made it for me.