Learning to Fly

It seemed like a good idea --- to fly. But the wings and the propeller weren't quite enough to achieve lift-off. So for now, Plan B.

I was at the end of my rope. I remembered my Mom saying she was 'about ready to fly the coop!' and now I knew what she meant. I was 15 years into my marriage. My kids were driving me crazy. My husband was checked out mentally and emotionally. He was never home. Nobody respected me or valued me. I just got to a point where I felt like a failure as a mother and as a wife and as a person. I was lost. I was ready to "fly the coop!" So I did.

It was either me or them. I'm not proud of it, but I had to fly or die. My oldest daughter decided to live with me. The other kids stayed with their Dad. I got a job for the first time since I worked at a Dairy Queen back in high school. I'm now the front line receptionist for Tyson Poultry Division. “Good Morning, Tyson Poultry Division – how may I assist you?” Actually, when I think about it, I remember my Grandma raised chickens in a chicken coop and I always used to wonder about that phrase "fly the coop", because as far as I could see chickens didn't do much flying. You ever seen a chicken try to fly? I mean they have all the right machinery, but things just don't quite work the same way for chickens as they do for other bird species.

I guess that was me. I tried and I tried to get off the ground after I got married. I tried to make life work out right for my kids. I tried to be a perfect wife and cook the nice meals. I flapped and flapped my little wings, and could never get enough lift-off. The best I could do was skim along the ground, dragging my butt behind me. But I can cluck. I'm a good clucker. “Good Morning, Tyson Poultry Division – how may I assist you?” Fact is, they tell me at my office that I'm the best phone person they've ever had at Tyson Poultry Division.

I may not be flying high, but now ... finally, finally...
I am learning to stand on my own two feet.



Stand 1
Stand 2
Stand 3