My big boy went to his first airshow this weekend which thrilled him. B's "Pap-Pap" used to take him to see World War II fighter planes when he was a little boy, so when he heard there would be a show near us, he had to go and see what Miles response would be. M already loves trains, cars and anything that moves with wheels, -really, a total boy in that aspect. Needless to say, he was all lit up and they sat in a copter and even a very old plane that had been flown to California rather precariously (it made many emergency landings on the way).
Brandon and I have no positive feelings for war at all, so it is a bit of a paradox that we would take any joy in sharing war machines with our small son. Perhaps it is the energy of the second World War and the immediate and urgent cause to stop Nazi Germany that makes it historically tolerable. The stlyish and daring fighter pilots and the pride they took in their small, sometimes independently contracted planes have a nostalgic, artistic appeal to my husband. I love the artwork associated with that era, too.
Raising a boy means walking the fine line of indulging his boyishness and imbuing him with the sense of respect for human and planetary life in the hopes that his generation will not be faced with atrocities that shut down the natural response to be gentle and kind. One can wish.
We rather unconsciously juxtaposed the experience with the creation of a tiny house for brownies that Miles placed under the plum tree yesterday. It was a full, easy weekend of wonder and family.
This post was inspired by my dear Wendy's Most Alive Monday project.
