This is a short one.
One year for my birthday, probably when I was turning six or seven, I received a foam airplane. You know, like one that comes in a couple different pieces and you have to assemble it. But this was a big one with about a three-foot wingspan. I was happy.
My dad helped me put it together, and then he and I and my mom and brother, Ted, took it out to the courtyard of our apartment. My dad decided to take the first go at throwing it, so – as the rest of us watched in anticipation – he gently but forcefully launched the plane by throwing it into the wind.
The plane flew well enough… until it hit the tree. When it hit the tree, the wings broke off. Both of them.
First flight. Last flight.
That’s the story of the foam airplane.
