LETTING GO
Jack Glassman March/April 2003

Elsa and I gave Dad a glider flight as a birthday present one year – part of our tradition of giving him gifts of unusual and different forms of transportation. As it happened, it was a fine day for flying and we each decided to treat ourselves to a ride in the two-seater plane. Dad had brought an old, curled-up souvenir photo of the North Carolina army camp where his aviation cadet training took place, and he enjoyed reminiscing about the “old days” with the glider pilot, a warm and friendly gentleman.

After Dad’s ride, it was my turn. I remember the thrill of being pulled along the runway by the tow plane, and then up into the sky, the thin tow line alternately taut and slack. The views over the Duxbury cranberry bogs and down the coast were spectacular. Just when I was beginning to get accustomed to the ride -- each tug of the cable a reassuring reminder of our connection to the tow plane -- the pilot’s voice from behind startled me when he announced, “time to release!” Fear gripped me as I realized that, as occupant of the front seat, I was the one responsible for pulling the yellow lever handle under the instrument panel which would release us from our connection to a “real” airplane, with a perfectly good engine!

I gulped and pulled the lever, trusting in the skills of the glider pilot and, I suppose, the laws of physics. Just at that moment, we caught a “thermal” updraft, lifting the craft well above the clouds – a rare treat for glider rides, since the pilot was operating solely on “visual flight rules.” The rush of the wind and the feel of the air supporting us were at once exhilarating and peaceful; pulling that lever truly represented a “release.”

Now, we were at Dad’s funeral, a day we had dreaded but had also rehearsed in our minds, for there were close calls before, over the recent months and years. I had never been “in” a funeral procession before and, as we made bits of conversation here and there, I watched the hearse, which was directly ahead of us. As we made our way to the cemetery, the hearse made several wrong turns, prolonging the trip and greatly annoying me. However, all we and our entourage could do was follow the leader; we were tethered, as it were, to Dad.

After the burial service, we loaded into our limousine and embarked on the trip home. During the ride, I happened to look ahead of our driver and suddenly realized that now there was no hearse; we were on our own. At that moment, I thought of the glider ride years before and realized that this day was about setting Dad free! But he wasn’t in the glider this time; today, Dad had been the tow plane, sure of its course. Reluctantly, I let him go, as we soared on wings of faith and memory toward new destinations unknown.