I read a book a while ago written by W. O. Mitchell titled "A Kite." It was about an old man over 100 whose life is seen as an analogy of flying a kite.
I had tried flying a kite before as a child but was never able to even get it up in the air. Yesterday, we were at the farm and my Mother-in-Law found a kite in the basement. She carefully led us to a safe place to fly it, away from power lines.
As a family, we took turns flying it. My Husband went first, doing well but handing it over to his Son so he could enjoy the feeling. My Son kept the kite soaring for a long time although it was his first time. I was amazed at how artfully it flew under his guidance. My Middle Daughter kept the kite high in the air although not as high as my Son. When it came down, it gently touched the ground.
I couldn't keep my eyes off the kite, thinking of the story of the old man. I had to try it myself.
I let the line out quickly, thinking how easy it was. It seemed to be flying very high from my point of view but suddenly it plummeted to the ground. My Son came to help me wind the string back up. I asked him what I did wrong. He replied that it was the speed with which I let the string out and that I could play with it by tugging back at the string then letting it out.
He told me that he had caught his fingers in the string but I had never noticed becaused he didn't panic as I might've but gently took the line in his other hand so the string could relax and he was freed.