Fold and Fly

My husband and I were watching the news this past week when a story caught our attention. A group of college students over in Italy built the world’s largest paper airplane— nearly 23 feet long with a wingspan of more than 65 feet—and flew the thing almost 200 feet through a warehouse. Their contraption was made of nothing but paper and a little glue. They launched it from a high platform, with one guy carrying it overhead before he heaved it forward. They set a Guinness World Record and broke one that had stood for 13 years. The students said the whole project started after several of them began folding paper airplanes for fun between classes.

I sat there smiling at the television, because handcrafted paper airplanes were “a thing” in the ancient days of my youth. Back then, all we needed was one sheet of paper. Sometimes we used notebook paper, and sometimes Mom would give us a few sheets of her typing paper. We folded it carefully down the middle, then unfolded it. That middle crease was our guide. We folded the right corner so that it formed a perfect right triangle, with the edge along that middle crease. Then we did the same with the left side. Note that symmetry is key in paper-airplanemaking— the left and right sides are mirror images of each other. We pressed down on a tabletop and flattened it with our hands, like an iron. Next, we flipped the paper over so that the folds were on the bottom and folded the sheet in half along the original crease (but the fold went the other way the second time). After a series of a few more folds, we had ourselves an airplane. No glue, no warehouse, no world records—just a paper dart sailing across the living room until Mom hollered at us to take it outside.

Full disclosure here: my sister and I were no great architects of paper airplanes. Our planes had a bad habit of nosediving into the carpet or spiraling off sideways like they’d had one too many at the country club. But my brother Andy? That boy was practically an aerospace engineer at 12. His paper airplanes could go places. He’d make little adjustments to the wingtips, fuss over the folds, test and refold and test again. When I close my eyes, I can still see his gliding through the air—soaring like a hawk in the sky. He’d explain it all, of course—said it was about lift and balance, how the air cuts over and under the wings. I listened, but mostly, I just wanted my planes to fly better.

We were not the Wright brothers at Kitty Hawk, but we were paperfolding fools in those days, because we didn’t have electronic devices to distract us. We didn’t watch handheld screens. We built things with our hands. At school, we made paper “cootie catchers” that could tell a whole future for free. We folded paper footballs and thumped them across the school cafeteria tables, playing field goals until it was time for class to begin. We made book covers out of folded grocery sack pa- continued from page

per. And we passed notes folded up in that special way, tucked into their own little pocket, so opening one felt like unsealing a secret. In junior high, I loved opening my locker to find that a friend had shoved a folded paper note in it for me to discover.

I still remember how to do all of it. Every fold. My hands know the creases the way they know how to shake hands or flash a peace sign (or Mr. Spock’s Vulcan hand sign—live long and prosper). I could fold you a paper airplane right now without thinking twice. But if you are someone who can’t remember how to fold one, no worries. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of videos on YouTube showing you how to make different designs.

So watching those Italian students cheer as their giant creation glided through the air took me back to the days of watching our airplanes fly again. It did my heart good to see young people still believe a piece of paper can become real engineering magic.

Do kids today even know how to fold a simple paper airplane? If there’s a young person in your house, hand them a sheet of notebook paper this week. Show them the folds and techniques. Let’s keep the art of paper-airplanemaking alive.