Remember

I remember the time my family and I went to the beach.  I was only seven years old.   My brothers were still practically babies; instead of running and playing in the waves with me and the other kids, they were confined to the shade of my mom's beach umbrella.  There they amused themselves in true "little-kid" fashion, throwing fistfuls of sand at one another and crying when sand got in their eyes.
After we had been at the beach for a while, I saw a boy about my age come scuffing down the beach with a brightly colored kite in tow.  As I watched in interest, the boy faced into the wind, held the kite aloft, and released it.
The wind gusted at the kite's underbelly and took it aloft.  It soared up and up, so high that I thought it would touch the clouds.  Then, the boy tightened the slack on the kite string.  The kite came to rest high in the air, where it bobbed gently back and forth in the breeze.
I watched it dance for a long time,
envying it.  How nice would it be, to be a kite.  To be able to soar on the wind and see the world spread out beneath you, and to watch the other children gaze up at you, laughing in delight as you glided over their heads.

Seven years passed.  My family and I returned to the same beach during the summer of my Freshman year.  I was fifteen then, and my brothers were ten.  We had our own kite this time- a red and yellow stunt kite that looped when one of its two strings was pulled.  My brothers worked together to launch the kite, and after several failed attempts they managed to clear the umbrellas and send the kit soaring into the clear blue sky.
A crowd of admiring children quickly gathered around to watch the kite swoop and dive.  My brother grinned, basking in the attention of the other kids. 
I didn't join them.  I sat apart beside my half-finished sand sculpture and stared at the flying kite, not with envy, but with sadness.  I felt sorry for the kite, tugged every which way by the whims of the wind.  What was the point of flying if you weren't able to go where you wanted.  It was confinement in the guise of freedom- and that made it all the worse.

-Swellish