Le Ballon argent
As one of many people closely following the story of Falcon Heene yesterday with rapt attention, I have to strongly object to the unfortunate nickname the media and others are bestowing on him: "Balloon Boy." This name reflects the general attitude I've noticed where people regard the incident merely as wacky news. "OMG, it's a real-life version of Up!" seems to be the common sentiment, turning Falcon into fodder for late-night comedians' monologues.
Was I the only person not to see goofiness in the story, but instead saw it as mysterious and beautiful as it unfolded? To me, this wasn't just a stunning example of bad parenting, but represented supreme wish-fulfillment. A six-year-old boy untethering the mysterious flying machine behind the house, embarking on a tremendous adventure, escaping from a drab family life into the air. It was as if an ocean had tumbled by with a private airship for Falcon.
While watching the live feed of the balloon rapidly descending, I was filled with concern for his safety, but my concern really more closely resembled the feeling of exhilaration I get in a falling dream moments before waking up. And when the realization came that he was not in the balloon and could be seemingly anywhere in a large area of rural Colorado, my imagination continued to run wild. After it was suggested he might be hiding in the neighborhood for fear of retribution, the efforts of officials on the ground to find him no longer seemed like a "search,", but instead became a "chase" in my mind. Falcon was a fugitive from a world threatened by his imagination and his desire to fly away to something better.
The whole incident invites obvious comparisons to so many cultural touchstones, but I'm shocked by how everyone is comparing it to the wrong ones. This isn't about Up or Danny Deckchair! Have people forgotten Le Ballon rouge? Brewster McCloud? And, most importantly, the story of Daedelus and Icarus, of the tragic consequences of a father's attempt to give his son flight?
By this time Icarus began to feel the joy
Of beating wings in air and steered his course
Beyond his father’s lead: all the wide sky
Was there to tempt him as he steered toward heaven.
Meanwhile the heat of sun struck at his back
And where his wings were joined, sweet-smelling fluid
Ran hot that once was wax. His naked arms
Whirled into wind; his lips, still calling out
His father’s name, were gulfed in the dark sea.
And the unlucky man, no longer father,
Cried, “Icarus, where are you, Icarus,
Where are you hiding, Icarus, from me?”
Then as he called again, his eyes discovered
The boy’s torn wings washed on the climbing waves.
He damned his art, his wretched cleverness,
Rescued the body and placed it in a tomb,
And where it lies the land’s called Icarus.
And that's why I'm not bothered by the possibility that it all may have been a hoax. From the beginning, the story always lay more in the realm of myth. The fact that the boy flying away was named Falcon makes it clear. This was never a news event. It was a fable.