I was about 8 years old when I tried to teach my brother to fly. I put his two little 5-year-old hands through the handles of two large aluminum garbage can lids.
We were up on our garage roof which sloped down slightly from a peak in the middle and seemed perfect for a good running start. Flapping wildly would provide the lift off. So my trusting brother charged down the slope trying to make those big lids flap.
He did fly about 8 feet, straight down. That was the day he started questioning my creativity and perfect knowledge.
“Sisters Help Us Fly” is an apology.