Growing Up Miles, Pt 3 : And I Think I Can Fly

Did you ever think you could fly? Most of us have wanted to fly at some point in our lives. I've pretty much always wanted to fly. I spent a lot of time as a kid looking up, dreaming about flying-- as a bird, as a pilot, as an astronaut.... But did you ever think you could fly?

I grew up when the US was unstoppable, when we owned outer space, when we were well along the arc to interplanetary (maybe interstellar!) travel, when science fiction seemed less like fiction with every passing day. With the odd dollop of magic or fantasy thrown in (to transform into a bird or pterodactyl), I had the skies covered. We would lay in the grass or in the driveway and dream of flying. I might be a buzzard or an eagle, or I might be piloting anything from a high winged Cessna to one of the B-52 Stratofortresses that constantly flew over El Paso in the early and mid 1960s.

Or I might be on my way to other planets, other star systems, other galaxies, other universes, or just wandering the infinite depths of outer space, between any of those.

I might be an inter-dimensional being that flitted from one reality to another, walking, swimming or flying as desired or needed. I might fly straight through gas giants, or even dense planets. Maybe even suns. But not black holes. Nothing could fly through a black hole. The weird gravity would probably rip the wings right off a trans-dimensional being!

I wanted to soar through that clear, blue, infinite, Texas sky, on cloudless days, and when the wisps floated high above like too many contrails, and when the cumulus clouds stacked up like God's own bag of cotton balls, and when the rare thunderheads moved in. I wanted to fly before the dust storm, before the flash floods, and right through them. I wanted to soar on the edge of gale force winds, then turn and fly back the other way just to show them who was boss.

Some days, out of the blue (so to speak), I would be hit with a nearly overwhelming conviction that I could fly if only I tried right then and there. This might happen once every few months, or once a year. It stopped, finally, during college. One of my most vivid memories of 9th grade is sitting in band rehearsal, 3/4 of the way to the back of the room, up several levels of risers. My trombone resting on the floor, I stared at the music while Mr. McClintock berated some other section for the sort of heinous musical crime band directors berate sections for. Suddenly I knew, I knew! that if I tried immediately, I would fly. Not just could. Would.

I watched it unfold in my mind's eye. It was so graceful. I carefully placed the brass on the floor, stood on my chair, extended my arms. Heads turned. Mr McClintock quit swatting the music stand with his baton. I raised my arms. He looked angry, thinking I was mocking him. I flapped my arms once, twice, leaned forward and leapt. I soared over the shocked heads, some ducking, of my band mates, landed next to the director, then took off back to my seat, doing a tight loop along the way. I picked up my trombone, and awaited instruction...

Thankfully, I caught myself before I finished putting the trombone down. But it was a massive struggle to not attempt what part of my mind just knew was the first step-- and possibly my last chance at that step-- into a glorious life filled with flight. I agonized for a day or two over whether I had blown it. Did I mention this was in the 9th grade?

I don't recall ever giving in to these bouts; I'm sure I would have remembered the subsequent doctor's visit and the mockery at school. (I never got this urge on flat ground without witnesses nearby.)

Did anyone else ever go through this?

Or is this just part of the freakishness of being Miles?[1]

 

This afternoon I couldn't help staring at the beauty of the sky, at the mixture of clear, rain-washed blue and clouds both white and gray. P.O.D.'s "Alive" started playing in my head, and I was soaring near those clouds on the wings of a bird of prey, lord of of all I surveyed, drinking in the glory and beauty of creation from a few thousand feet up.

It was, of course, all in my head. But until the day I can really and truly fly, I can live with that.

NOTES

[1] Thanks to Whitney Fagala and Kelsey Jones for latching on to that phrase when I spoke it today. I wouldn't have remembered it otherwise!