Have a nice trip

I knew Icarus when he was still around to be known. When he was gliding to and fro. Floating into job interviews with the arrogance befitting a deity. He didn’t listen to me - he never did. I told him to study aeronautics, to follow the ways of birds, to book a flight on PanAM – anything than what he ended up doing. But no – Candle Boy, as he was known in those days – preferred something a bit grittier, a bit waxier. He was obsessed with feeling the air between his shoulder blades. He’d say, “if you can’t taste clouds, actual water vapor, then you’re really flying, pal. Sorry, but it doesn’t count.” This was the closest thing to an apology he ever gave.

I remember that fateful day, watching as he snuggly tied on his wings, laughing and hollering. I said, “Icky, baby, c’mon. This is a great Halloween costume. Really stupendous. I’m with you on the look and style, but you’re not gonna make it to Crete on those puppies. It ain’t happening.”

He scoffed, he sighed, he shrugged. Who was I to question his judgment? Did I know who his father was? He built The Labyrinth. Not the one in Allentown, Pennsylvania, but the original location that housed the minotaur. Personally, I never understood what the big deal was with designing a huge maze. It’s like being proud of creating a road solely for its horrendous traffic. How about a nice, clean street without potholes or confusing alleyways? Is that too much to ask? His father reveled in the fact that he made something impossible to navigate. Me? I prefer getting lost without consulting a map. 

But Daeddy knew his son was doomed. He’d say, "kiddo, candles burn very easily. Apollo has a wonderful sense of humor.” For centuries people have criticized Icarus for flying too close to the sun on wax wings. That’s not exactly correct. He could’ve gone to any airport in the region and chartered a flight. I offered to pay, not that he needed the money. He couldn't be reasoned with. Icarus was the sort of person who corrected people at parties when they talked about flying to Europe on spring break, “Umm, excuse me. You didn’t fly anywhere.” And look where that attitude got him. It got him to the bottom of the ocean floor.

Occasionally, I’ll see people who remind me of Icarus. It’s rare, but it happens. The wing-suited wing-nuts, the ballooned buffoons, the high-wire halfwits  - the Blaines, the Baumgartner, the Petits. That’s his legacy. Unlike those imitators, at least Icarus knew that to fly, you first have to fall. Maybe he just didn't think it'd be so far.