J.J (12th Grade)

Even as a toddler, I loved flying. I loved the hustle and bustle of airports, the satisfaction of carrying my own backpack, the hours-long waiting filled with sleepy anticipation, and of course actually being on a plane. Life takes on a surreal quality when you’re 30,000 feet in the air, surrounded by strangers in a sea of cushioned seats. And, when your parents handle all the necessary and unfathomable mysteries of Passport Control, Security, Customs, gates and terminals—your only responsibility being to follow them and not complain too much—travel becomes less of a chore and more of an adventure.

Another reason my brothers and I loved flying was because, when we were young, it meant Toys. Our parents quickly discovered that the presence of a previously unknown gadget or whirligig could serve to keep us occupied for hours. (At least, it could when it didn’t provoke jealousy and arguments, which was more often the reality among five boys.) One particular night flight, when only my older brother and I were of an old enough age to care about such things, our parents bequeathed us with two or three poseable Transformer action figures. I knew nothing about Transformers (I still don’t, actually); I just thought that a robot that could turn into a car was beyond cool. In later months most of the Transformers would go missing or lose various critical limbs, but at the time we happily played with them throughout the airport.

When at last we boarded the plane and took off, my brother began to succumb to the effects of too much excitement, and promptly fell asleep. Not I. This was the perfect opportunity—now I had all the Transformers to myself, to pose and fight with on my fold-out tray.

It happened that my seat was on the aisle near the front of the plane, where the flight attendants commonly lurk. At the time, most of the passengers were either asleep or wishing they were asleep, so a few stewardesses and one steward were taking the chance to grab a bite to eat before returning to the routine of handing out blankets, serving drinks, and graciously explaining that the overhead “buckle-your-seat-belt” sign meant that you should buckle your seatbelt. I believe that in the course of their meal, one of the stewardesses noticed me and presumably pointed me out to her fellows as a cute blond toddler; at any rate, I suddenly found myself with the attention of three or four smiling flight attendants.

If I had found myself in this situation a few years in the future, as I matured into a less-cute, equally-blond, much-more-shy preteen, I would have hastily thrust away my toys, turned aside, and tried to pretend that I didn’t exist, they didn’t exist, and most of all the Transformers didn’t exist. At the time, however, I knew a good thing when I saw one. Here they were, tired from their long hours, with only plane food to console them. And here I was, conducting one of the most riveting battle scenes ever to occur in a Boeing 747. I would be their dinner show. What I lacked in trivial things like plot, setting, dialogue and originality was fully supplemented by the rather desperate nature of my audience. They, to say the least, were amused.

To me, those flight attendants were complete strangers, just as I was a stranger to them (though likely not a particularly intimidating one). However, for a few minutes as we hurled through chilly air multiple miles above the earth’s surface, the only things that mattered were a handful of Transformer toys being waved about enthusiastically by an only slightly-embarrassed toddler, and some men and women looking on while trying to hide grins behind fork-speared bites of salad. For me, that was part of the magic of plane travel.