Back When We Could Fly

Out of the passenger side of the vintage VW van in front of us, a hand suddenly shot out of the window, fingers close together and cupped against the wind—surfing. The hand was small boned and delicate, a woman’s hand. A few minutes later, from the driver’s side of the green van, extended another hand. This one was larger, thicker in the wrist, but it was also cupped against the wind—surfing.

My husband and I watched, amused, as the pair of hands dipped and rolled in the streams of air outside their windows in front of us. Soon, from the backseat on the passenger side, a tiny, fragile hand emerged, fingers cupped in perfect imitation. Then from the backseat on the driver’s side, still another hand appeared, only a little bit larger. The van looked as if it had sprouted from its windows four mismatched wings. With the right mix of air and angle, it was easy to imagine that it would take off at any moment and fly.

It was one of those great old VW buses; lime green and covered with bumper stickers—a rolling relic of our hippie past. Most of the stickers were faded and curled at the edges. One of the bumper stickers looked new. It read Legalize Joy. I loved those wind surfing hands flying above that bumper sticker.

The combination made me realize that I had not rolled my window down and felt the wind or the sun in a very long time. I had been too worried about messing up my hair, getting too sweaty, or being able to hear every single word of the bad news on NPR. I had almost forgotten the importance of teaching the little hands in the backseat about windsurfing, and other such serious matters. I had forgotten, what with so much of the world on fire. I wish I could tell the occupants of that VW van thank you, for helping me remember about windsurfing and joy.

In many ways this has been a tough year in a steady stream of tough years, and what I’d like to say to all those child-raping, baby-murdering, bomb-carrying, hotel-toppling, retirement-stealing creeps out there? I’d like to say what that WWII general said to the Germans when they demanded the unconditional surrender of the Americans. I’d like to say, “Nuts,” because as far as I know, joy is still legal, and as long as there are people out there rolling down their van windows and teaching their children about joy and other such archaic notions, we just might have a chance. I had forgotten.

My hair is a little messier now, but my heart is better. I can’t wait to show my grandchildren how to feel the wind, and other such serious matters. I’ll make sure they roll down their windows once in a while, and I’ll show them how to cup their hands—just so. Maybe their world is a scarier place, but joy is still legal, and the wind still works.