Attempts at Metaphor in BookThree: Flight Log 2016

I want to write something beautiful. I want to write something meaningful. I want to write something that makes the world understand something a little better… and then I realized… it isn’t what I want to write… those are all things I want to be.
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A small boy was left in a room with his toys and encouraged to discover the ways in which they could interact. At first, he kept the process simple. G.I. Joe rescuing Elsa from the Transformers. Lego bricks adding color to his wooden block castles. But then, he gets an idea. What if he could make an entire Toy World? All of his toys interacting and becoming part of an epic adventure! He grabs all of his building toys… the blocks, the Legos… even the Construction Paper is put with the building toys. He then puts all of the other toys together… animals with animals, machines and robots with machines and robots, people with people. Then he spends the entire day trying to combine the building toys. What if he makes a Lego Mountain Range towering over a block village on the edge of a construction paper river? Wouldn’t that be neat! So he builds the Lego mountain, using all of the Legos he owns. But the mountain is quickly dwarfed by the size of the blocks. Two blocks stacked immediately eclipse the mountain. Then as the boy’s older brother walks into the room, the boy begins to dismantle the Lego Mountain… attempting to discover what else could be done. As he’s contemplating, however, the boy’s older brother takes the Legos and effortlessly builds a creative and beautiful Giant Space Ship. The boy then begins to think of the opportunities such a ship could afford his toys. A spaceship could act as a Space Ark for the Animal Toys and the Space Ark could be manned by some of the People Toys hurtling towards a Wooden Block Space Station manned by Transformers. As the story takes shape in the boy’s head; he fails to see his brother dismantle the Lego creation.

Okay, that isn’t so much a metaphor as an exact description of what it was like playing with Toys when I was growing up. My brother is brilliant when it comes to THINGS… Legos, drawings, sculptures… he was a prodigy and a genius. And I could never quite get anything to work out the way I had envisioned it. Sometimes, it still feels that way. My brother owns 2 houses, his own business, has a wonderful daughter, lives wherever he wants, travels the globe for personal and business, and vacations at least once a year. Meanwhile, I haven’t had a real vacation since before Law School, I’ve never owned a house, and I’m desperately sending resumes into the digital ether in hopes of being able to move back to the area I’d prefer to live. What is really messed up, though? This is EXACTLY like my father and his younger brother. My Uncle… owns several homes (including one on the beach in Hawaii), was the CEO of a major Fortune 500 company, traveled the globe, 2 great kids, vacations whenever he wants and travels by private jet. Meanwhile, Dad never really vacationed, owned one house his whole life, and had three jobs in the last fifteen years . Not to disparage my father at all… he provided for his family and lives an acceptable life. But… yeah. Much like Income Inequality.... there seems to be interesting separations between the Brothers of Our Family.
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Hopefully… this is the metaphor I’m trying to write down:

A small village boy grew up watching the brave knights fight for glory, wealth, fame, and purpose. The only thing the village boy wanted to do with his life was to become a knight. He had read all of the rules, studied all of the histories, knew everything there was to know. But he had never worn armor, never ridden a horse, and had never held a lance. Those things, he thought, could easily be adjusted to once they became accessible.

Armed only with his knowledge and a book on “Chivalry;” the boy began to ask the Noble Houses if there was need for a squire. “I’m willing to shine the boots of a knight in order to become one,” thought the boy. However, every house told the boy “We have no need of a squire. Nor need of a knight, for that matter.” And the boy traveled and traveled, hoping to find somewhere he could follow his dream. But the further he traveled, the more tired he became. Until one night, he knew that he needed to rest. He could not simply camp under the stars again… he needed to at least find a stable or Inn. The village boy trudged along until he found a decaying castle with a lone candle flickering in the embrasure. He knocked on the door and was allowed in by a kindly old woman who ushered the boy into the Great Dining Room. Upon the table were a few meager scraps of meat and very little else in the way of food or drink. Instead of a noble at the head of the table, however, was a Knight and the boy had an idea. He approached the knight and said, “Sir Knight; I have traveled far looking to become a squire. Now I am tired and in need of shelter. If you could provide me with that shelter, I would gladly repay you. I haven’t any gold, but I could squire for you and represent your holdings as a Knight until such time as you felt that debt had been repaid.”

The Knight stood slowly. Very carefully, cautiously, the Knight approached the boy. The knight said nothing. When the Knight had closed the distance to the boy, he stopped. The Knight looked the boy up and down and silently extended a hand to the village boy to shake. The village boy, pleased to have finally found a place to squire, shook the hand eagerly. The kindly old woman returned and took the boy to the stable where he was offered damp straw to sleep on. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t even comfortable, but at least the boy would be a squire and that thought helped him sleep soundly.

The next day, the village boy awoke with the sun; refreshed and energized to begin his day. The village boy raced into the Great Dining Room expecting to see his new master in plain clothes and eating breakfast. Instead, it was much the same set up as the night before. The Knight, fully clad in armor, sitting at the end of the table… the table containing the same few scraps of meat and nothing else. The village boy approached the Knight and said, “Sir, would it not be more wise for me to assist you in placing your armor? At the very least I could shine it for you.” The Knight turned his head towards the boy and opened the facemask of his helmet. For the first time, the boy got a view of his new master. The aged face of a man clearly in his last years of life; long white whiskers covering a gaunt face with sunken eyes and withered lips. The Old Knight managed a light cough and a dry smile before saying, “YOU aren’t a squire. You’re a knight. Put on your armor and begin.”

The village boy was very confused but attempted to obey his new master. He went to the armory and collected various pieces of armor that appeared as though they may fit. The best he could find was a pair of boots too large, a chestplate too small, and a helmet that was already half corroded. The kindly old woman from the night before led the village boy to a horse and gestured for the lad to get on. The boy scoffed and said, “I don’t know how to ride that.” But the old woman merely gestured for the boy to get on again. The boy tried hard to mount the horse, but every time he thought he had it; something went wrong. First, the boy could not get enough momentum or strength to get on top of the horse. But as soon as he overcame that issue (with a sizeable step ladder), the horse itself began to provide the difficulty. The horse would quick or bray or pull away… always to the same result. Learning the knighthood, it seemed, was not as easy as the village boy had thought. Making this realization, the boy returned to the Old Knight still sitting at the table. “Master,” the boy said, “I should require assistance. The horse is unfamiliar with me and the armor ill-fitting. While I have read how to break a horse, I believe that your presence may help to calm the beast.” The Old Knight coughed in a manner the boy was certain was an attempt at laughing. Then the old man said, “I cannot leave this room. I have not left this area for over a decade and I believe the next time I do so will be for my own funeral.” This panicked the boy. “B..b… but,” the boy stammered, “surely there must be someone else within your holdings that can become a knight. As I had stated, I was looking to be a squire and still have much to learn.” The old man again coughed in a manner that must surely be a weak attempt at laughter. The old man solemnly locked eyes with the boy and said, “If there were another soul within my holdings, perhaps. As it is; I can only wish you good luck.”

Last updated October 04, 2016