The kid told his father what his intentions were. The father told his son not to do it, it’s been tried, it’s failed every time, and it wouldn’t work this time either.
But the dad’s cousin, who also lived with them, had been more encouraging. He told the kid the plan would work and the father to “be more supportive.” “You want him to succeed don’t you?” he asked of the father.
The father had disagreed, even taken the time to show his son all the YouTube videos of others who’d made their own wings and then crashed painfully, even mortally into the ground.
But the kid ignored the advice of his father. Instead he devised a plan to go ahead with his own wings. He’d even convinced his younger brother he could fly with him.
So the two boys, at the urging of the cousin, used dad’s best tools, some of dad’s new lumber and some of the old hard wood dad said wasn’t to be touched. Some of the screws were new and shiny, some were old and rusty, but the wings took shape.
Next he raided his mother’s closet and took her best bed sheets, wrapping the wood on both sides to convince his little brother it was safe. He then plundered her craft cabinet, took her fabric paints and painted the wings to look like eagle’s wings. Surely if they looked like eagle’s wings the plan would work.
Next he used mom’s Velcro and some of dad’s wire and string to tie the wings to his arms, and then the younger boy tied himself to big brother’s back. Strapped together they’d fly to glory.
Now they stood a few steps from the edge of the roof. It was a good thing dad worked so hard because they had the tallest, best house in town. As big as it was, it would be the best place to fly off of.
The father heard the commotion on the roof. He’d been in his office paying the bills and doing the extra work that had provided so much for his family. But a bad feeling came over him when he heard the shuffling up above. He knew what his son was up to.
He raced outside, along with his cousin who’d heard the same.
The father’s heart dropped when he saw the two boys perched a few feet from the edge of the high peak. He immediately shouted for the boys to stop and come down. He kept yelling. However, his cousin, whom he tolerated because he was family and he loved him, yelled good luck to the kids, “you can do it!”
In lock step, just as big brother had taught the younger, they took the three steps toward the edge of the roof to build up speed, and jumped.
For a brief moment in time it looked as if they would fly. And then reality and gravity kicked in and the boys plummeted to the ground.
The father stood bewildered, the horrific outcome flashing through his mind right before it actually happened. Everything that meant anything was about to be lost.
His cousin, now faced with the same reality instantly changed heart, but it was too late. What had he done?
Terror raced through the younger brother, but it was too late for him too. He’d tied himself to big brother and the doomed plan.
Now ask yourself, when it comes to Obama’s plans, “are you most like the little brother, the cousin, or the father?”