Hot Air Balloon

Sunday, February 13, 2011
By Rev. Dr. Larry Delano Coleman
HOT AIR BALLOON

ONCE UPON A TIME, there was a little boy who loved his Daddy very much. He thought his Daddy could do anything.

They lived near St. Louis, Missouri, where the St. Louis Cardinals play big league baseball.

One day, they went to a baseball game. There, Daddy bought his son a big red hot air balloon, which was tied to a long plastic string. The hot air in the balloon made the balloon float up in the sky. But, the long plastic string, when held tightly, kept the balloon from flying far away.

The little boy loved his big red balloon. He played with it throughout the game. When they ate popcorn or drank soda pop, Daddy would tie the balloon to his son’s chair to keep it safe.

After the game, Daddy reminded his son to hold onto tightly to the balloon’s string. Otherwise, he said, the hot air, in the balloon, would cause it to fly far away.
All the way, in their car, the little boy held on tightly to his balloon’s long pretty plastic string.

As soon as they got home, though, a bad thing happened. A big gust of wind blew the balloon out of the little boy’s hand while his father was picking him up from out of the car. Up, up, and away it went! Higher and higher the balloon floated! It was being carried farther and farther away by the wind!

“Daddy!” cried the little boy. “Catch my balloon!”

But, Daddy could only watch, sadly, as the balloon floated away. It finally came to rest in the top of a tall oak tree, in someone’s back yard, about block away.

“Sorry, son.” He said, “There are some things, even Daddy’s cannot do, like catch a hot air balloon!”

The little boy wept bitterly at his double loss. The first loss: being the loss of his big red balloon. And his second loss: the realization that his Daddy, whom he loved very much, could not, after all, do everything as he had formerly thought, like catch a hot air balloon.

Soon, the little boy’s loud, piteous cries brought his mother outside to comfort him and to dry his tears.

“Ssh. See,” she said as she smothered him with kisses. ”You can still see your balloon, so you still have your balloon. See there it is! Listen! SsShhh! We don’t have the sun, or the moon, or the stars, either. Do we? Do we?” she asked.

“But, we can see them all – the sun, moon, and stars--so they’re still ours. So, we still have them. So, stop crying like a baby! Where’s Momma’s big boy? You still have your balloon! It’s just safe, now, in that tree! Now, tell me, who won the ball game?”

The little boy, somewhat overwhelmed by his mother’s wit, stopped crying. Mother’s wit had stumped him, and diverted him. He did not know who had won the game. He had been too caught with the balloon to notice or to remember, if he had ever known.

All he could do now was to quietly watch his big red hot air balloon float playfully in the wind in the distant oak tree top by its long, pretty plastic string. It remained there for many days, steadily diminishing in size, till one day, it was gone.

“The Cardinals won” said Dad. “Kenny Boyer hit a home run.”