Blustery Day

Kite flying on a windy day means that your little kid stands out from you and holds the kite aloft until you yell for him to let go.  Then he runs to you and demands to hold the giant ball of string in his tiny, sticky little paws and you smile at your son and hand him the control but almost immediately he drops the string and the kite jerks and dives straight into the huge pine tree at the end of the field and his eyes fill with tears while his face turns red just before his mouth opens wider than the Gates of Hell itself and a sound explodes from that little body that you're sure could only come from those tortured souls beyond the gates.  You drop to your knees and gather him to you in an effort to comfort him and quiet him to protect yourself from the people who must surely be calling the police to  report you for child abuse.  You tell him that it will all be OK --that you'll get the kite down-- that the fun has not come to an end.  As he stands there with the crying hiccups you pick up the now small ball of string, wind it back up till its tight again, and give it a good jerk.  Miraculously, the undamaged kite floats to the ground and the smile on your son's face returns like Lasurus from the grave.
You walk over and pick up the kite, hand it to the boy, and tell him,"Go over there and hold it high in the air. When I yell, you let go."