I believe in miracles. First, my 13-year-old son acknowledged my presence in front of his peers during a class trip. Second, you have this column. Over three days I logged a thousand miles on my minivan and four hours of uninterrupted sleep at the Bates Motel. I was suffering from severe Starbucks withdrawal and tired-brain writer's block.
As any Bus Stop Mommy knows, you don't have to chaperone an out-of-town field trip to feel tired and stupid. Childbirth does this for you. The more educated our kids get the harder it is to look good in their eyes. How are we supposed to know there is a new way to carry the one when multiplying double digits? Or that Creed is a rock group and not something we recite at Mass every week?
So when my kids simultaneously studied aviation history, I got excited about dinnertime conversations that wouldn't put me on the same intellectual level as my dog. Schooled in Ohio, I was saturated in aviation history and trained to take great pride in my homeland pioneers: Neil Armstrong, John Glenn, and Dayton's native sons, the Wright brothers.
I was taught I lived in the land of the Wrights, but my now kids are being taught they live in the Wright Place. I saw North Carolina's claim manifested first hand on the field trip with a scheduled stop to the Wright Brothers Memorial. High atop a grassy hill sits a giant cement cone complete with massive ornately carved nickel doors. One kid, who had previously seen Napoleon's tomb, asked if the brothers were buried there.
“No, they're buried in Dayton, Ohio. Where they were raised, designed, built, and tested their planes. They merely flew near this spot because the weather conditions were favorable.” I made it back to the bus before being trampled by angry native North Carolinians.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the dinner debate became lively. Spoons were banged, voices raised and much to the dog's delight, food started to fly. I understand this is similar to the behavior in both Ohio and North Carolina's legislative lunchrooms when the same debate raged. Minus the dog, so I guess they had to clean up after themselves.
Both states claim ownership to the origin of flight so strongly that they produced license plates to prove it. Ohio's plates read, “”Birthplace of Aviation” while North Carolina's say, “First in Flight.” Both Dayton and the Outerbanks planned Centennial of Flight celebrations for Summer, 2003.
What's a mother to do? Prove my children wrong, naturally. Luckily, a colleague came to my rescue with the following: flighthumor.org. As a parent, he knew my kids would believe something flashing colorfully on a screen, even if it's exactly what I just told them in spoken English.
So gather your family around; check out the site; view the (G-rated) movie clip and let the dinner table debate begin. Let me know your pick for the Wrightful claimant and if you need to borrow my dog.
Karen Rinehart is a magazine humor columnist, public speaker and the creator of The Bus Stop Mommies, a newspaper. She is also author of Invisible Underwear, Bus Stop Mommies and Other Things True To Life. You can read more of her work at karenrinehart.net. Karen lives in Concord, North Carolina with her two kids, one husband and goofball dog, where they attend St. James Catholic Church. (Well, they leave the dog at home.) She enjoys hearing from readers across the States and as far away as Australia, Japan and England.
