Backward Flying Angel

Jim Sparr

Description

The Backward Flying Angel gives the reader examples that demonstrate how experiences, family, institutions of education and religion shape our view of life. The author briefly compares five living generations, and different approaches to parenting. The author also reflects on himself in each of these three roles as a grandparent, parent and child. Carter, the fifth generation member, tells the story from his perspective while traveling to and on vacation in Colorado, and deals with subjects such as communicating, discipline, comedy and tragedy, patience, temper, bad language, love and bonding.

Sujets

• Philosophie et théologie

Informations

• Publié par: First Edition Design Publishing
• Date de parution: 01 octobre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781506902135
• Langue: English

Extrait

JIM SPARR


ANGEL BIRD PRODUCTIONS
PUBLISHING
The Backward Flying Angel
Copyright ©2016 Jim Sparr

ISBN 978-1506-902-11-1 HC/J
ISBN 978-1506-902-12-8 PBK
ISBN 978-1506-902-13-5 EBK

LCCN 2016939890

May 2016

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com



ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r or publisher .

www.jimsparr.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sparr, Jim
The Backward Flying Angel / written by Jim Sparr .
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1506-902-12-8 pbk, 978-1506-902-13-5 digital

1. FAMILY & RELATIONSHIPS / Parenting / General. 2. /Life Stages. 3. REFERENCE / Personal & Practical Guides.
T3741
The Backward Flying Angel is dedicated to Fay Sparr-Davis, the matriarch of five living generations. She nurtured one family with two children—my sister and me. After our father died at a young age, Mom remarried. Her new husband brought three children to the marriage, and they had three more children. Mom nurtured that family, and openly gave her unconditional love to all of her children and grandchildren. Although Mom had a strong religious background, she never preached to any of us; rather she taught values to all of us by the way she lived her life. She self-sacrificed to help anyone. Anytime she needed care she always apologized, for fear of being a burden. When we paid attention to the example Mom set, we succeeded. Mom, you will always be my angel. I love you.
Contents

Introduction . 1
The Journey . 5
Temper and Patience . 19
Bad Language . 33
Discipline . 45
Bonding . 65
An Angel Appeared Unto Carter . 83
Epilogue . 91
Introduction
Some of the following stories are excerpts from my upcoming memoir and some are recent observations of five living generations. All characters, animals, and events are real. How individuals related to some of those events is based on how I think they would have interpreted words, conversations, and stories.
Watching the different behavioral styles of grandparents, parents, children, and grandchildren of different generations has been fascinating. Thus you will find here a reflection on myself in three of those roles.
Observing the different generations communicating has also been fascinating. I had to work much harder at communicating (being able to imagine what the other person was thinking) when the third and fourth generations came along. Watching a music video channel made connecting with my granddaughters easier. Connecting with my great-grandson should have required watching cartoons and paying attention to his toys. That’s where I failed, but I have openly expressed my love for him in many ways, and that connection seemed most important.
The main character you are about to meet is Carter, my great-grandson.
Recently, while driving back from Crested Butte, Colorado to our home in Almont, my son-in-law, grandson-in-law, great-grandson Carter, and I saw a magpie in the middle of the road. I immediately told the story of an unfortunate magpie that made the electrical connection between positive and ground while standing on top of my transformer. I completed the story with a sizzle and POW sound along with a visual of long black and white feathers floating to the ground. Carter, who had been totally quiet, asked, “Grandpa Jim, can I see your transformer when we get home?”
When I pointed at gray cylindrical transformer number 1891, explaining the transformation from high to low voltage, Carter said, “That doesn’t look like my transformer.” I left thinking Carter saw and heard my description of the bird’s violent demise as natural because he associated the event with a cartoon toy transformer wreaking havoc. I imagined Carter thought: My transformer is cooler than Grandpa Jim’s.
The Journey
The red glow of dawn with scattered pink and purple storm clouds gave way to a clear mid-morning sky and quickly warming summer temperatures. Grandpa David, Grandma Shelley, Aunt Katie, and Aunt Chloe occupied the first vehicle of the two-family caravan. Carter’s dad drove the following vehicle with Carter’s mom, the older sister of Katie and Chloe, in the front passenger seat, and Carter behind in his car seat.
The family always followed the same route to Grandpa Jim’s home in Almont, Colorado for summer vacation. That annual pilgrimage, going on for over twenty years, now got larger with each new family member. This year, however, would turn out to be special—because of a rare visitor.
The caravan had just turned off US 54 at Bucklin, Kansas and drove onto US 50, thirty miles to Dodge City and one-hundred-and-fifty miles from Wichita. Two-hundred-mile segments divided the six-hundred-mile, eleven-hour journey to the western slope of the Rockies. Garden City, Kansas ended the first segment, but the family had always associated that segment more with Dodge City because of its Western history.
The family focused on Wyatt Earp, who’d spent time in Wichita and Dodge City. Grandpa Jim always spoke with pride about the last name of the delivery doctor on his birth certificate—Earp. Grandpa Jim’s mother, Great-Great-Grandma Fay had told him the delivery doctor possibly had some relation to Wyatt because of the delivery doctor’s old age.
From the back seat of the vehicle, securely seated in his car seat, seven-year-old Carter asked, “Mommy, how long before we get to Dodge City?”
“We’re just now coming into Fort Dodge, so a couple more miles.”
A complex of white, wood-siding structures filled the scene from the road. The total complex provided housing and health services for older war veterans. Grandpa Jim had visited the museum and learned the history of the fort and of the housing that served veterans dating back to the Mexican and Civil wars. Grandpa Jim said the museum and the veteran facility’s reputation made it the most interesting and significant tourist stop along the way. Fort Dodge had welcomed all veterans from both sides of the Civil War including black veterans.
If the prevailing south wind had been blowing, Carter’s sense of smell would have detected the first in a series of cattle feedlots throughout western Kansas and eastern Colorado. Both Wichita and Dodge City began as cow towns, and both still had economic remnants of that history.
Carter’s dad turned right, drove onto the archway spanning the sets of railroad tracks, then turned left onto the main highway through Dodge City. The next few blocks had a scattering of small businesses on the right side of the highway, with old grain-storage elevators and railroad tracks all along the left. Carter leaned forward, straining against his safety harness to catch as much of the view as possible through the rear passenger window.
Carter knew that he wasn’t supposed to bother his dad while driving so he asked his mom, “Is that Boot Hill?”
“Yes, it is. Do you remember it from last year when we stopped?”
“Yes. Are we going to stop again?”
“Not this time. We need to get on down the road.”
The family had stopped last year so Carter could see the Boot Hill tourist attraction where some Old West gunslingers had supposedly been buried with their boots sticking out of the ground. Each new-generation member visited tourist attractions like Boot Hill and the world’s largest hand-dug well in Greensburg, Kansas, and learned their history.
The caravan stopped briefly in Garden City so they could fill gas tanks and empty bladders.
A pungent smell permeated the mid-morning atmosphere. Carter asked his mom, “What’s that smell?”
“That’s coming from the cattle feedlots. Someday I’ll tell you about them.” Local residents, many of whom had economic ties to the cattle industry, called it the smell of money.
Back on the road again, the caravan drove past miles of wheat, milo (grain sorghum), hay fields, cattle-grazing lands and feedlots. The ‘Welcome to Colorful Colorado’ sign at the state line became the only indicator of any change in scenery. Thirty minutes into Colorado the city of Lamar marked the halfway point of the journey and the final cattle feedlot. Just past noon, the caravan approached Pueblo. The clear day revealed mountain peaks on the western horizon.
“I see the mountains, Mommy.”
“Yes, we’ll be in the mountains shortly.”
Carter repeated his question for the third time: “When are we going stop for lunch?”
“In a few minutes we’ll be on the western side of Pueblo where the restaurants are located.