Buried among my collection of black T-shirts emblazoned with sardonic sayings, an old favorite surfaced the other day. The well-worn shirt has a small graphic of a penguin helplessly flapping its wings while underneath it reads, “I wish I could fly.”
I pulled it on without a thought before walking into town with the dog. I don’t know what it is about my sartorial sensibility—or overall personal vibe—that seems to invite comment, but I seem to encounter a disproportionate number of people who take an intense interest, and/or umbrage, toward what I wear when leaving the house.
On this trip, I ran into a woman waiting at the ATM who turned to me, looked me up and down, and asked, “Do you?”
Do I? I thought. Well that depends. Primarily on what the hell you are talking about. I might. Then again, I might not.
“Excuse me?” I asked, not entirely sure if she was talking to me. It’s hard to tell, what with Blueteeth and schizophrenia both running rampant on the street these days.
“Do you?” OK, now I’m pretty sure I don’t, whatever it is, and if my dog wasn’t currently rolling around at your feet, I’d have her drive you off. “Do you wish you could fly?”
What the… ? Oh, the shirt. “’Erm… sure, doesn’t everybody?”
“Hmmmpf.” The woman turned away dismissively and ended the odd little philosophical tête-à-tête. Was that the wrong answer? Do I really wish I could fly?
After walking and ruminating on it, I have to admit that, no, flying isn’t really on my short list of things I wish I could do. Understanding my fellow humans, for instance, would best flight in a heartbeat, although I realize that it is slightly less likely to actually happen.
What do you wish you could do?
Román Leão 