Home > FTIAT, Guest blogger > FTIAT: Annual Kite Flying Day

FTIAT: Annual Kite Flying Day

Reneé (Lessons from Teachers and Twits) writes such lighthearted, fun entries, it’s startling the first couple of times you read her comments and realize her entries reflect but a small portion of an enormously complex, enormously beautiful soul. A teacher to the core, in almost all her words can be found a lesson.

One of the lessons contained in this entry is perhaps the most powerful to carry through rough times: the hardest lessons learned are also the ones that most illuminate the joy of what follows.

Recommended post: Lessons from Eight Junes

Annual Kite Flying Day

One August, a man that I loved tried to kill me.

Only he didn’t kill me.

Earlier that day, we had gone kite flying.

I stood quietly by his side watching the blue of the kite blend with the blue of the sky, watching him control the kite, make it do what he wanted it to do.

Later that night, he took my body and showed me that his was stronger.

That he was in control.

His leg weighed tons, and I couldn’t wiggle out from underneath him. At first, I thought he was just fooling around but he wasn’t laughing and he didn’t get off of me even when I told him I couldn’t breathe.

I didn’t scream, but I should have.

Afterwards, he took my head and tried to make me believe that he wasn’t a monster.

But he was.

Even though he sent me long, love letters filled with apologies.

Even though he put a heart-shaped rock on the windshield of my car.

Even though he tried to make me remember sweet, summer peaches.

I could only picture them bruised and split down the middle.

I remembered how he pushed me under water and tried to drown me.

How it almost worked.

Except it didn’t.

Every August, for over twenty years, I find myself remembering this man.

And, strangely, I feel an odd sense of gratitude.

Because that night, in a stranger’s room, in a borrowed bed, I learned that I could
be broken.

But I also learned that I could put myself back together again.

And somehow, it is August again and I find myself in a park wrestling with a kite.

It is windier than usual and tough to fit the cross spars in their slots because the kite fights me impatiently.

I think it knows what I have planned.

Finally, I stand up. The tails snap, wanting.

I run backwards, feeling the pull.

I run, turning my back to the wind.

With the front of the kite facing me, I release it into a gust and pay out line and pull back to increase the lift.

In thirty seconds the kite is far out over the lake, pulling hard.

I run around the muddy field, making the kite dip and soar, dive and swirl.

From the ground, I control that rainbow diamond in the sky – make it answer my commands.

I remember how he hated things that refused to be controlled and so it is with great swelling pleasure that I release a new kite each year.

I like to imagine him chasing after the dropped driftwood reel, his hands outstretched, the Screaming Eagle kite a quarter of a mile up, blazing.

Blazing.

Like me.

last : The Clock | One of the Things I’m Grateful For : next

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  1. September 2, 2011 at 5:43 am

    Oh, my goodness, this is powerful! I’m so glad you had the strength to break free of this horrible man. Spunky and determined are always the first words that come to mind when I think of you. You are a force to be reckoned with and I’m so thankful that you survived and are even stronger for it. You have much to be thankful for! 🙂 I love this post!

    • September 2, 2011 at 6:43 am

      Thanks Sprinkles. This was very hard to “put out there.” I’ll never be truly free of this person, but I am not broken anymore.

  2. September 2, 2011 at 5:52 am

    Oh my dear friend Renee. I cry as I write my response to this, because although I’ll never write about it on my blog, for here is a safer place, the same thing has happened to me. In order to protect my son, I will never write about many of the details I experienced during my time with his father. I am so proud of your response. Not just to this, but to life, and the ups and downs we experience. I believe God is using you to shine a light that says, “There is life after pain.” Thank you for being vulnerable enough to share this. Not only was it gutsy, it is so beautifully crafted.

    • September 2, 2011 at 6:46 am

      Thank you so much, friend. Like you said, I would never post something like this on my own own blog, but I was grateful for Deb, for providing me with an opportunity to reflect on something else besides “teacher” stuff and to show people another side of me and my writing. I’m so sorry to learn that you have a had a similar type of experience. But I’m glad we know this about each other now. Sister survivors.

  3. September 2, 2011 at 5:55 am

    What a great metaphor. Thank goodness you found yourself, rose up and somehow walked away. Powerful story and graciously written. May this be a story for mothers, their daughters and granddaughters.

    • September 2, 2011 at 6:48 am

      Georgette:
      It’s not a metaphor. I did this for years. For real. I didn’t do it this year because we went on vacation. For the first time, I couldn’t go back. But I’m grateful for that, too. Maybe it is time to stop that, too.

  4. September 2, 2011 at 5:59 am

    Wow. Just wow. So powerful. Thank you.

  5. September 2, 2011 at 6:11 am

    Thank you for sharing this! It’s beautifully written and I’m so inspired that you’re able to reflect on such a difficult time with gratitude.

    • September 2, 2011 at 6:51 am

      Hi Jules: To be fair, it has taken many decades to be able to get to the gratitude part, but I’m there. Have been for some time now. And I can help other people who find themselves in similar situations.

  6. Craig
    September 2, 2011 at 6:12 am

    You’re amazing, Renee.

    • September 2, 2011 at 6:52 am

      Thanks Craig. I aim for “like totally awesome,” but I’ll take “amazing” any day. 😉

  7. September 2, 2011 at 6:13 am

    Excellent. May your story help others, Renee. Thank you for your transparency. You created such a wonderful metaphor for such a horrible experience, proving light can escape through the darkness.

    • September 2, 2011 at 6:54 am

      Thank you, Lenore. Your words are so appreciated. The idea of “transparency” in this area was unfathomable to me a few decades ago. Now it just feels like dropping a lot of heavy bags on the floor and walking away from them.

  8. September 2, 2011 at 6:14 am

    That was beautiful.

    Thank you for giving me perspective today.

    • September 2, 2011 at 6:55 am

      How is that even possible? You are the one who usually provides me with perspective? I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m shaking as I tap out these comments.

      • September 2, 2011 at 6:10 pm

        *hugs*

        It was just a raw, beautiful depiction of someone who could find something good in such a bad situation. And very brave of you to put it down on paper.

        (Also, the nitpicker has to mention that it was brilliantly written. Your said so much with so little. Your word choice, you sentence structure: it is amazing.)

  9. September 2, 2011 at 6:19 am

    That was one of the most powerfully moving posts I’ve read in awhile. I am just struck to the core with the images and the emotions that welled up as I read it. Thank you for sharing such a personal story, Renee. And the ending “blazing. like me.” I am speechless. You are an incredible woman.

    • September 2, 2011 at 6:57 am

      Dear Maineiac:
      On any given day, I don’t necessarily feel like I’m “blazing” — especially when I’ve fallen down a flight of stairs or put on mismatched shoes. (True and true.) But on this particular anniversary, each year, I truly do. Thank you for your sweet words of support.

  10. September 2, 2011 at 6:25 am

    That is very scary! Good for you for putting yourself back together!

  11. September 2, 2011 at 6:26 am

    My mind has returned to this entry many times over the last days. Every time, I’ve found tears in my eyes as I consider your strength–in surviving, in sharing this, in shining a light for others who are struggling to find a way to fully appreciate that they, too, have survived. I believe that, through your willingness to share, you have passed the strings of that kite to someone who needed to hold them and consider that someday they, too, may be able to set those strings free. It’s more easily imagined and done when the strings can be pictured.

    I always used to picture myself throwing my boxed-up struggles off the back of a ship. They’d dissolve in the air before they could ever meet the water. Since I read your post, I’ve imagined releasing a kite instead, and the brilliance of watching it disappear behind the sun.

    I feel so honored and blessed that you chose to share this via TMiYC. Even more that, I feel honored and blessed to know and be inspired by you.

    You are amazing, and an inspiration.

    • September 2, 2011 at 7:05 am

      Deb, I feel so lucky to have stumbled on to you when I did. You have been a blessing in my life. I know that sounds kind of duffus-y. (I’m an English teacher. It’s okay if I make up words.) But you really have provided me with an opportunity here to show a different side of myself, my writing — none of this which would have really been possible on my own blog. It just kind of didn’t fit.

      I mean, I could have made it fit because it happened the summer before I went to college. So there was that school piece in there… but this allowed me to keep school out of it.

      I have loved getting to know you, your family, taking our blogosphere relationship “to the next level” by chatting on the phone, even getting disconnected on the phone was fun! Thank you for being such a gracious host. (You’ll have to let me know the stats later.) 😉

  12. September 2, 2011 at 6:33 am

    The kite was an excellent way to metaphorically describe what you survived. As a child, I was always so amazed that something so fragile could survive being tossed around in the sky and crashing down to the earth.
    I am glad you are like the kite – a survivor.

    • September 2, 2011 at 7:07 am

      Hi Susie! I am a kite. Even on the day to day. I crash all the time. But on that day, there is no crashing allowed. Only triumph! 😉

  13. September 2, 2011 at 7:19 am

    Hi Renee, wow that was very moving. When I read stories like this I always think how sheltered my life has been – perhaps that’s a good thing. I am also continually amazed at the resiliency of the human spirit and how folks are able to move on from horrible situations and somehow end up better off. Yours is a good example. Thanks for sharing… and as always, thanks for being a teacher… one of the most important professions a person can have!!

    • September 2, 2011 at 10:30 am

      Hi Cowboy! Thanks for following me. Best lesson is to teach your daughter how to avoid the monsters in the first place

  14. September 2, 2011 at 7:33 am

    This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read. Ever.

  15. September 2, 2011 at 8:24 am

    Beautiful. I am so glad you were able to take such an awful moment of your life and turn it into a thousand positive moments afterwards.

    • September 2, 2011 at 10:32 am

      Thank you, Rebecca. Honestly, it is scary. I am sure that for every positive comment there are many people who are thinking something much more negative about me right now.

  16. September 2, 2011 at 8:33 am

    so powerful! thank you for that moving story! few are so strong to recover from such a thing. thank goodness you could!

    • September 2, 2011 at 10:33 am

      Dear Tara:

      One has no choice but to move forward. I don’t think I’ll ever forget, but I have “recovered” myself. 😉

  17. Miranda Gargasz
    September 2, 2011 at 8:40 am

    Very moving. It is a testament to strength.

    • September 2, 2011 at 10:35 am

      It is a testament to a lot of things. Time. Friends. Family. (A good therapist.) Faith. Forgiveness. (And did I mention a good therapist?)

  18. September 2, 2011 at 8:44 am

    This is amazing, and beautiful – and makes me want to get my own kite out of the back of my car.

    • September 2, 2011 at 10:36 am

      I wish wish wish I had a friend with whom to fly kites with in real life. If you ever do go flying, let go of the string and think of me! 😉

  19. September 2, 2011 at 8:52 am

    Thank you for writing this. It’s excellent.

  20. September 2, 2011 at 8:56 am

    Beautifully written. Incredibly haunting. No woman should ever have to endure this. But sadly I know too many that have. For each of you I have wept. I’m so sorry Reneé.

    • September 2, 2011 at 10:38 am

      No more weeping Susan Utley! I decided a long time ago that life is to be lived — and that means getting off the porch. Well, when you get off the porch, sometimes you get scratched up, running with the big dogs. I got scratched and bitten, and I’m okay. Better than okay. Thank you for the Tweet! 😉

  21. September 2, 2011 at 9:06 am

    Beautiful, amazing post. I’m left with a feeling of honor and self-love. Very inspiring. Blaze on, lady!

    • September 2, 2011 at 10:41 am

      Thank you, Chris. I really do try to inspire. Crazy as it sounds. I usually find I am grateful about even the smallest things, but I do go a little crazy when it comes to the personal safety of people under the age of 18 years old.

  22. September 2, 2011 at 9:42 am

    Very powerful writing. I’m still absorbing. Thank you for putting yourself out there therefore helping me put my sorry life in a better perspective. A survivor yes. It takes one to know one. And I found another. xoxoxo

    • September 2, 2011 at 10:42 am

      Marie:
      The saddest thing is learning that there are so many of us. Blaze on, Survivor Sister. We are so strong; sometimes we don’t even know it.

  23. Kasey MacInnes
    September 2, 2011 at 9:58 am

    Thank you for sharing this. As other readers have posted. I, too, overcame a very scary man, and I’m still re-building, but stronger and more grateful for what I have than ever before. It’s from experience, strength, and hope that I feel I’ll be able to better prepare my daughter in her life to notice the red flags. Wonderful, beautiful post!

    • September 2, 2011 at 10:44 am

      Kasey:
      As I said to a few other people, it is always amazing to me to learn how many women have had similar experiences. We do share a strength and you will be better able to teach your daughter — hopefully – how to avoid dangerous people and situations in the first place without making her feel afraid of truly living!

  24. September 2, 2011 at 10:38 am

    One of the most incredible things I’ve ever read, dear friend. Beeper.

    • September 2, 2011 at 10:45 am

      Beloved Beeper. And there you are. As always. Just when I am feeling most terrified. It has been a long time. Thank you for showing up and letting me know you were here. I know you are. Do you know I am? Because I am. Always.

  25. John Erickson
    September 2, 2011 at 11:14 am

    “Wonderful story” doesn’t begin to do this justice. The fact that you could come back from that horrific day, and not only face life in general, but make that potentially tragic day of kite-flying into an annual release, shows the strength of character and power of spirit you can bring to bear.
    Brava!

    • September 2, 2011 at 1:56 pm

      Dear John:
      Thank you for your kind words. I really appreciate them. Especially from a guy. I often feel like guys think that women who have been hurt like this hate men. I love men. I have a great husband and son. And I continue to have faith in the goodness that most men possess. 😉

      • John Erickson
        September 2, 2011 at 2:13 pm

        Renee- I seem to have fallen into the “friend” (as opposed to boyfriend) category all my life. I was the one all the girls in high school would seek out for comfort. A friend of a lady I was seriously courting to be my wife (didn’t happen) paid me her biggest compliment – I was “safe”. (Yes, that crushing sound was my ego being rendered two-dimensional. 🙂 ) I’ve dealt with a number of women from bad relationships, both face-to-face and online. Even my wife went through a bad boyfriend before we met.
        I always try to go by the tenet of everyone’s an individual, and one bad relationship shouldn’t sour you on the whole gender. Large portions, maybe, but not the WHOLE gender. 😉

  26. September 2, 2011 at 11:14 am

    Thanks for sharing your powerful story of survival. Here’s to a future full of soaring high into the sky in all your glory!

  27. September 2, 2011 at 11:28 am

    I almost don’t want to comment…your confession, your words…they’re almost holy. You’re a strong woman, and I hope the rest of your life is filled to the brim with joy and blessings. xoxo

    • September 2, 2011 at 1:57 pm

      I’m glad you said something. People’s words give me strength. The poison is in the silence.

  28. #4
    September 2, 2011 at 12:02 pm

    Renee (sorry – can’t get the little apostrophe over your second e), Just wanted you to know, from my perspective, the person who did those things to you was not – I repeat – not a man. He is correctly labeled a monster but he is not a man. A man would never treat a woman so brutally. I suspect that this guy’s dad was worthless as well because he obviously was never told how men treat women. He was probably victimized himself, although I tend to avoid the label of victim because so many people use it to excuse their own behavior and there is no excuse for awful behavior.
    You could claim to be a victim and no one would argue, most would even agree. But I suspect the experience has made you stronger and more self-assured. In that case you were refined in fire, but not victimized.
    Now you can use this to give hope and assurance to others and speak directly to their pain, and I know this is how God turns bad into something good.
    In the telling, I would encourage you to refrain from calling him a man, he is so obviously not and does not deserve the title. It was never earned. but you most certainly are an incredible woman. Keep fighting the good fight.

    • September 2, 2011 at 2:01 pm

      Thank you, Brother #4. At the time — 20 years ago — he was not a man. He was broken, too. I like to imagine he has grown up some. He knows what he did. Accepted responsibility. That said, I still think he has that monster in him and more than just a little capacity for cruelty.

  29. September 2, 2011 at 12:25 pm

    This is a very powerful and emotional story that captured my heart and mind with every word.

  30. September 2, 2011 at 12:42 pm

    A beautiful and honest post. My heart goes out to you!

  31. September 2, 2011 at 1:43 pm

    I am so emotional right now that I can’t read the other comments yet. Please forgive me if I repeat somethng. I am so moved by your story, the the way it drew me in and hasn’t let go. I’ve had experiences with men that I needed to escape, and I wonder if your brilliant example of how you made it through and past it, could have helped me choose myself sooner. I’m grateful that your story is here to be seen and felt, and to inspire.

    • September 2, 2011 at 2:22 pm

      Dear Sparks:

      Thank you so much for your words. I am so sorry to hear that you have had similar experiences. I wish you strength in choosing yourself in the future! *raises glass* Alas, sometimes our choices get made for us.

  32. September 2, 2011 at 2:00 pm

    That was amazing. I found myself holding my breath as I read it and skimming ahead as I tend to do when I’m really excited to find what’s going to happen next that I can’t be bothered to read conjunctions. I then went back and re-read every word carefully. Such a deep and amazing post.

    • September 2, 2011 at 2:24 pm

      Wow, you skipped conjunctions for me! I want that as a bumper sticker. *CAUTION: WILL SKIP CONJUNCTIONS* 😉

      Thank you for your enthusiasm. I’m glad the writing style caught your attention. Hopefully, one day, I’ll have a published book that will have the same energy.

  33. September 2, 2011 at 2:04 pm

    Wow. Terrifying and beautiful.

  34. September 2, 2011 at 3:29 pm

    This was very powerful and moving; how brave of you to put your pain in print. Congratulations on not just rising above, but soaring!

    • September 2, 2011 at 4:40 pm

      Thank you, Peg! For helping to continue my metaphor. I’m all about soaring. No more ground for me.

  35. September 2, 2011 at 3:31 pm

    I’m not the first to say I’ve had that experience and I won’t be the last. It’s so hard to put yourself back together after something like that, but the feeling of power over yourself that it gives you is far stronger than anything he took away. Yes, we can be broken, but we can put ourselves back together. Thank you for posting this. As you say, if you want to run with the big dogs, you’ll get scratched and bitten on occasion. You don’t live life without collecting a few scars. I’m proud of mine, because they show what I survived. And not only did we survive, but we live!

    • September 2, 2011 at 4:41 pm

      Hi Anne-Mhairi: That’s it exactly! I kind of love my scars, too. Weird, eh? Thank you for being brave enough to stand up. Another survivor sister!

  36. September 2, 2011 at 6:31 pm

    What a powerful story… and all the better that she broke free and found her strength… Kudos! 🙂

  37. Brian Henke
    September 2, 2011 at 8:18 pm

    Renee, That was something I never expected. I’m sure you’ve put this in words for yourself but to put those words out there on display for everyone, that took real guts. A young friend of mine recently posted that he was tired of lying, living a false life and trying to be someone that he wasn’t. He wanted to let everyone know how he felt and what his real thoughts were. You and he have both come clean. The troubling darkness has been placed in the brilliant spotlight. No longer hidden, it withers and retreats, leaving space for the brighter experiences of life. Rock on Renee!
    BB

    • September 3, 2011 at 4:49 am

      Thanks, Brian. It’s strange. I would never have posted this on my blog. I know I have this persona at my my place as the cheery, funny teacher (and twit). And I am. But I more than that slim slice. I have a past. And it wasn’t always fun. Or funny. So thank you for being supportive — as always. Having been knocked down really helps one to appreciate standing upright.

      Are you going to write another song for me at “Grandma’s”? 😉

      • Brian Henke
        September 6, 2011 at 10:16 am

        Sure, right after your next 3,000 comment generating post.

  38. September 2, 2011 at 9:26 pm

    I don’t know what to say. Does I love you suffice?

    I haven’t been there exactly but I’ve hovered on that edge, using my physical strength to push men–not boys–away. The first time I was 14. The next? 18, I think. And I’ve dressed the wounds of women who have been there.

    Thanks for sharing. Beautiful words to tell a powerful story.

    L

    • September 3, 2011 at 4:53 am

      Thanks, my dear friend. I figured you’d show up. You know, eventually. After the whole time change thing. Cuz you know I was sleeping when you showed up. And you know I’m clinging to my sliver of summer, and I know you are back in your classroom. I figured after the kids got into bed (finally), after you collapsed somewhere to catch up on stuff, you’d get here. I’m scared about losing touch over the school year. Just know that I’m always here. Let’s just know that about each other, k? LOVElove

  39. September 2, 2011 at 9:49 pm

    It’s one thing to just get out alive, and it’s another thing to then live. You showed such strength in doing both, and such courage in sharing your story, Renee.

    • September 3, 2011 at 4:55 am

      Thanks Leonore. I am so grateful that you followed me here. Having my cyber buddies rub my cyber shoulders has been strangely reassuring. 😉 By the way, you give great cyber back-rubs, in case you didn’t know.

  40. Kim Cook
    September 3, 2011 at 8:36 am

    Renee…thank you for sharing. I have kept that image of being broken and being able to put yourself back together in my head since I read this yesterday. Just the other night I was trying to come up with an image to describe how some recent terrible events in my life have affected me, and I didn’t quite get one. This is it. I think I will add an extra layer… I think I have put myself back together, but if you look closely enough, you can still see the jagged lines where I have used the glue. I am sorry this happened to you. With love, Kim

    • September 3, 2011 at 10:05 pm

      Kim! I have no idea what has been going on with you, and I feel terrible about that. I hope you are okay! Sending you extra glue — Super Glue brand — and lots of cyber support.

  41. September 3, 2011 at 8:47 am

    Wow! I only know of you from your writing on WP, but can honestly say that I have always walked away from reading your posts thinking to myself, “what a creative individual she is”.

    This one left me with “powerful and full of mental strength” in place of creative. You truly have a way with words, even in your darkest hour.

    I love the fact that you don’t bury this ugly time of your life, but celebrate the fact annually that you have managed to keep moving forward. Based on your writings, it seems as though you have some pretty wonderful people in your life, as do they in you!

    Again, WOW!

    • September 3, 2011 at 10:07 pm

      Wow, that is high praise, lady! Might have to take a screen shot of that one and tape it to my computer on the days where I feel like I will never become anything. I have learned to surround myself with on;y the best people, and that includes my cyber friends — some of whom who have crossed over and become very important people in my day to day life.

  42. September 3, 2011 at 11:27 am

    beautifully painful. thank you for sharing. this will stay with me. 🙂

  43. September 3, 2011 at 11:58 am

    Thanks for sharing this raw and personal piece of brilliant writing. As someone who has been there, done that, it was almost too raw for me to get through but I am glad I did.

    • September 3, 2011 at 10:10 pm

      Dear k8edid:

      Well, then you know.

      Right?

      And if you’ve been through that, there is nothing you can’t face. I hate that there are so many of us, but our invisible scars do make us who we are.

      • September 4, 2011 at 6:26 pm

        I do know, and knowing is the start of the rebuilding. All that has happened to me made me into the woman I am today, with the glorious life I live now (glorious in terms of loving and being loved, and being safe and secure.) I also hate that there are so many of us, and so many that suffer in silence – with invisible scars. Thanks for baring yours.

  44. September 3, 2011 at 6:45 pm

    Wow. I have no words.

    I just love you. Simply.

  45. September 3, 2011 at 7:39 pm

    Renee – Your ordeal sounds brutal, but I applaud your courage in writing it out and it is handled beautifully. Now off you soar, you blazing thing, you.

    • September 3, 2011 at 10:12 pm

      KB: So happy that you came over to read. This wouldn’t have worked over at my place. It means so much to me that you clicked through. One day later and I’m so grateful for all the continued support. I have never posted anything this personal before.

  46. September 3, 2011 at 8:01 pm

    Your story of survival is inspiring. I’m sure many women are reading and feeling your strength. Thank you for sharing!

    • September 3, 2011 at 10:14 pm

      Hi Karla: For years, I moved in circles. But after almost 25 years, well, I’m moving forward again.

      • September 5, 2011 at 6:29 pm

        Hearing this gives me tremendous hope. How life can blossom again, how a woman can survive, how the best is yet to come. I wish I could give you a big hug! So here’s a virtual one: (( squeeze! ))

  47. Elena Aitken
    September 4, 2011 at 7:59 am

    Renee,
    So powerful. So beautiful. And what a tribute to yourself that you release a kite every year. Thank you so much for sharing.

    • September 4, 2011 at 5:36 pm

      In writing this piece, I actually came to an even bigger realization: this piece is the biggest kite I’ve ever flown. I no longer have to do my private August ritual. In posting this piece, I can let go of the kite forever. So coming to Deb’s has been wonderful in a million ways. So many great people. I can’t wait to be able to go back and read a few pieces from all these bloggers and, hopefully, make some new connections.

Comment pages
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