Family brings the future into reality

This morning, while suspended in that blissful moment between sleep and wakefulness, something wonderful happened. A minor miracle in my estimation.

As I lay in bed, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, the bones of my old house began to creak and groan like a wooden sailing ship caught in a storm. The ceiling above me clattered with footsteps ranging back and forth across the room. The thump of a dropped object onto the carpet of the second-floor bedroom caused me to stir. The noises continued. This could only mean one thing. My youngest was home.

In its best and most heartwarming form Christmas can bring the family together, in spirit if not physically. It fires up memories of days gone by, even as it incites the imagination to envision scenarios yet to exist.

What will these young’uns of mine be doing in the future? Who will have the next grandchild? The big questions in most of our lives are not the big questions the newsreader on our favorite network might have us believe. They’re far more personal than that.

My youngest lives in another city, as does my oldest. Her commute is shorter than his, she being only about 40 miles away. He lives 1,000 miles distant. Fortunately, we are all in the same time zone.

I wrested myself from my bed, dressed quickly, and made it out to the living room in time to start my day with a big hug from my adorable daughter. The power of affection is undeniable. As a motivation to action it is unparalleled.

About 10 minutes later as I settled into a rare morning with nothing on my schedule, I sipped a large mug of black coffee while mulling over the power of human emotion. For good and ill, they drive us to do things — some beneficial, some detrimental. In some cases, we just don’t know which category our actions fall into until time has passed and the world around us has had the opportunity to evaluate our contributions. Albert Einstein knew this to be true.

Pride is a powerful thing. Anyone who has ever raised a child has moments to reflect on that swell the heart, bring a lump to the throat, and a tear to the eye. Pride in accomplishment is a wonderful thing.

Perhaps even more emotionally stirring is to see what our children do with the tools we’ve given them. What they invent, how they thrive, and even to an extent how they pick themselves up and get back to the labor at hand when they stumble, as we all do.

Which brings me to a photograph I’ve reflected on from time to time over the course of my adulthood. It is not a picture taken from my family archives. It is a portrait of sorts taken in 1944. The subject of the photograph is an old man. He is in his early 70s, smiling wide, obviously experiencing a level of joy we can all aspire to. The old man sits in the cockpit of a Lockheed Constellation. Arguably the most modern, complex, capable aircraft of its time. In 1944 it was a true marvel that stood as a testament to the capabilities of the engineer’s mind and the craftsman’s hands to create a machine that could traverse oceans and mountain ranges with equal ease.

The old man is Orville Wright. He is sitting in an airplane that sports a wingspan slightly wider than his first powered flight was long. It offers pilots and passengers comfortable seats that protect them from inclement weather. The beast carries a full contingent of stewardesses (a title the holders of which considered a point of pride, not a derogatory slight) who are charged with serving drinks and food in flight, but whose real purpose is to protect the passengers should anything unexpected happen.

The Lockheed Constellation was a behemoth of the skies. A later variant had such long legs TWA once sold tickets for a flight that traveled non-stop from London to San Francisco. The journey lasted more than 23 hours. Unimaginably fast and efficient in 1957. Terribly long and loud from our modern perspective.

I can only imagine that Orville felt a sense of accomplishment, family pride, and awe as he sat in the right seat of that beautiful, brand-new Connie. As it built speed, rotated, then lifted off the runway to climb into the sky over Dayton, Ohio, he must have been thinking, “I started all this. Me, and Wilbur, and Katharine.”

And he would be right about that. The Wright kids did the impossible, which then became the improbable. Eventually transitioning into the realm of the mundane with flights being so common, safe, and affordable that virtually everyone you or I know has flown. That wasn’t true when I was a kid. It was absolute fantasy when Orville was a child.

Times change. People age. If we’re lucky we learn something along the way and pass what we know on to the next generation for them to play with and experiment on, hopefully to improve on what we were able to accomplish.

Technology moves humanity along to a higher plane from time to time. The Wrights didn’t start that quest, but they succeeded at making the first big, verifiable, technological leap into a new age. Which they and others improved on. Which got us to where we are today when hangars are filled with Cessnas and Pipers and Cirrus aircraft and ramps are populated by airliners from Boeings and Airbus.

I can’t say who will do what next. But I can say with confidence that the future is brighter and more exciting than ever. And I take heart that my daughter is home.

Christmastime is here. Enjoy it.