I don’t know about you, but as a boy I was constantly restless. I dreamt of riding off into the sunset in a brand new, candy red Ford Mustang, or taking a propeller plane to explore the world. Don’t get me wrong, I had a great childhood with a loving family, great friends, and a supportive community. My displeasure with my surroundings was completely illogical, but I couldn’t help it.
It was all a wistful fantasy, but one so strong I had to vent my need for speed with model airplanes and cars. I remember going to the craft shop with my dad to pick up a new kit. The old man would sit with me at home as we opened the box, and unpacked the flat, jagged edged pieces. Slowly we would break them off, and start assembling them—– glueing the pieces bit-by-bit with that wonderfully toxic smell of airplane glue.
As it started to take shape, bits of the industrial age would rise up from the table. The finishing touches would mean applying the colored labels around the model and letting everything dry overnight. To this day I still have the finished models we created. They sit in a glass cabinet in my living room, next to college diplomas, my kid’s high school track trophies, and the like.
So I never got to fly around the world, but I did create lasting memories putting models together with pop.