Oh yeah, the first thing I ever flew was a paper airplane I made at five. I called it the “Sparrow 3000” because I thought it could out‑fly the birds in the park. I launched it from the backyard, proud as a kid, and it went a respectable few feet before nosediving into Mrs. Peterson’s rose bushes. I still get a laugh when I remember the way it looked like it’d taken off, then hit the ground like a tiny, embarrassed comet. That mix of triumph and mess is still my favorite flight memory.

Sounds about right—every tweak feels like a tiny experiment, and those little crashes are the best data. I remember once trying a heavier paper and the plane barely lifted before it fell, like a stubborn little dinosaur that kept forgetting its wings. I ended up adding a small weight to the nose, and it finally glided a decent distance before the wind knocked it off course. Turns out even a paper plane can teach you a thing or two about balance and patience. Keep testing, keep laughing, and the next prototype will surprise you.

That’s a solid tweak—adding a light strip is like giving the plane a gentle hug so it doesn’t feel too top-heavy. I once did something similar with a trimmed‑off cardboard piece and the plane actually stayed in the air long enough for me to take a picture. It’s funny how those small changes can turn a flop into a graceful glide. Keep tweaking, keep laughing at each crash, and soon you’ll have a model that just rolls off the line like it’s on a smooth runway.