Red Balloons Head West

Nothing was more exciting as a child then the 3rd grade class project to find a pin pal thru by the means of a balloon. We would write a letter with ill conceived grammer….much like my current writing style; introducing ourselves and asking a series of questions. I had images of my balloon being swept to a far off country and winding up in the hands of a kid around my age. They would go chasing the balloon as it was swept just above their heads, jumping over and over until their grasp finally reached the string. Then pulling the balloon down, would find the letter and with great excitement respond about what life is like in England, Mexico or some other country which at that time seemed to be of another planet.

After writing our letter and tying the string thru the whole punched index card, we would line up and march out onto the playground. I was sure my letter was going to go farther and reach someone much more interesting then anyone else in the class. The teacher would have us hold the balloons over our heads and wait until in unison we could release for the start of a new adventure in our lives. All at once we would let go of our strings, watching as it slipped from our grasp and rose into the air. My neck craned backwards to keep sight of my balloon as it lifted and danced into the wind. Quite a few balloons got wisped into the chain link fenced or trees that lined the field, adventures of those poor unfortunate bastards ended with a loud pop, letters to be picked up that afternoon and discarded by the janitor.

My balloon was different though; I saw it continue to rise, clear the trees and head out of sight. Just as quickly as the balloon disappeared, the excitement of finding a far off pen pall went with it over the horizon, as I became more excited to be the first in line for a quickly forming four square game. Yet, when a week or two went by and someone would get a letter from a few cities away, my curiosity would grow as to the final destination of my balloon. Yet, a return letter never came, and my thoughts grew further and further away from that dancing red balloon.

It seems as we get older this same routine follows our lives with our dreams and expectations of the future. We build up an idea of where and how we want our lives to be down the path. It appears grand in scale and perfect, yet since it’s the future we don’t have exact control over it; therefore we let it go and let the wind take it. Some of these dreams fly high and continue a clear path, reaching their destination. Other dreams don’t make it for a second before exploding in the clear sight of the dreamer. Yet most dreamers get distracted with other things and slowly forget all about where they thought there lives would lead, except for the occasional reminder.

Later I found out that they stopped this program of letting balloons loose due to them flying out into the Ocean and being lost. All these kids with their hopes and dreams of what could be, not knowing the whole time it was lost and would never happen. For me though, I’m still happy letting that balloon go as I watch it drift to the sky; even though I know it will head West and wind up lost in a the vast, blue Ocean.