Cathleen Reeves

Daedalus, Icarus' Dad, happened to be an expert at making things, given he had built that maze and everything.

He got himself to work on a good way to escape, making these contraptions, from bird's feathers, wax, and strappings.

He attached them to their arms, and, By George, they had wings!

And, before they set off on their big journey, Daedalus set Icarus some boundaries for his safety, like rules, you see.

Now, the most important rule was that his boy, Icarus, not fly too close to the sun's fiery fierceness.

But, once in the air, Icarus felt oh so confident and free, he flew higher and higher, ignoring his father's boundary.

He was so darn arrogant, he flew right up close to that devil of a sun's face.

That was the boy's biggest mistake.

That blazing ball of fire melted the wax holding together his wings.

And, sadly. they just fell apart, into pieces, plunging poor Icarus right down into the sea.

His unhappy Dad, Daedalus,  why he was left all alone to just cry his eyes out and grieve.

Grandfather shook his head and cleared his throat, his way to signal he was finished; then there was silence.

And, I thought about it all, for a few quiet moments.

The story of Icarus appeared to carry a lesson that was more than coincidence.

So, after we returned for a late dinner, I was somber, but I was no  longer mad, and my thinking was clearer.

And when my Dad tucked me in that night, I told him I loved him and hugged him tight.

Now, as a father myself, when I set boundaries, I have told the story of Icarus to emphasize:

"Rules are meant to help ensure safety,  and here is a reason why."

But, whenever I tell that now well worn tale of the fate of Icarus and me, I find myself thinking of things like grandkids, yet to be.

Then, I always stop and smile, my memory returning like a prism,

As I recall sitting on that bench, and my Grandfather's sunset wisdom.