|Then . . .|
|Now . . .|
Ringing a little bell here . . .
I liked to read with my children.
But more than that, I liked to sing to them.
Little songs that told a story.
I did it a lot.
One, The Biplane, was a particular favourite.
And therein hangs a tale.
So to speak . . .
When our eldest son was three, our family attended a family reunion.
People were getting re-acquainted—talk and laughter filled the wooded area where we had gathered.
Food was set out. A vast array. And talking lessened as gullets were filled.
An impromptu program began.
Someone recited and a couple sang.
My little three-year old stood up in front of that group.
All five verses.
People clapped and cheered.
I hadn’t realized he knew the entire thing. It was a proud moment for his dad and I.
Yesterday, I sat with his father in a crowd and watched that same son, now a man holding numerous degrees in music and education, working with a choir.
His knowledge, talent and skill were obvious. The choir responded and the music was amazing.
It was another proud moment.
He sang one difficult passage for the group, helping to clarify and, in that moment, I suddenly remembered the small boy who had stood in front of the large crowd—all alone—and sang.
All five verses of The Biplane.
Maybe it had something to do with our singing together when he was little.
And maybe he just got there on his own.
Do we ever really know what path we’re steering our children along?
Until they get there?
Way out in London airport in hangar number fourA lonely little biplane lived whose name was EvermoreHis working days were over no more would he sailUpon his wings above the clouds flying the royal mail
ChorusBye bye biplane once upon a sky planeBye bye hushabye lullabye plane
All the mighty jet planes would look down their noseThey'd laugh and say oh I'm so glad that I'm not one of thoseAnd Evermore would shake away the teardrops from his wingsAnd dream of days when he again could do heroic things
Then one day the fog and rain had closed the airport downAnd all the mighty jet planes were helpless on the groundWhen a call came to the airport for a mercy flight'Twould be too late, they could not wait, someone must fly tonight
Ah they rolled the little biplane out to runway number fiveAnd though he looked so small and weak he knew he could surviveAnd as he rose into the storm the big jets hung their wingsAnd they hoped someday like Evermore to do heroic things
And so my baby bundle I have spun a tale for youYou must learn there's nothing in this world that you can't doDo not be discouraged by circumstance and sizeRemember Evermore and set your sights upon the skies