Meet me in St.Louis...

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I've been traveling to St. Louis to see my relatives at least twice a year since I was only a few months old. It was the site of my very first solo plane trip to see my Grandparents, a trip forever imprinted on my mind, and the introduction to that feeling I still get whenever I travel alone and am about to board a plane to a new adventure—that humming in the blood that resembles imminent freedom. I was only 5-years-old, the age which, at the time, was the youngest the airlines would let a child fly. But I felt like a Grown Up. Invincible.

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Like many of my future travels, this one was not without a dose of misadventure. When I boarded the plane, my mother told me *not* to get off the plane (it was going to stop-over in Philly or somewhere) until I saw my grandmother. This was back in the day where family and friends could wait at the gate and even walk down to board the plane to greet their loved ones or say goodbye. Over and over, though, my mother told me if I forgot all other directions just to remember to stay put until St. Louis. Lo and behold, the plane broke down and made an emergency landing somewhere random and everybody was told to exit and switch to a different aircraft. To me, the voice on the loudspeaker just sounded like that Charlie Brown teacher voice, all jumbled and nonsensical. I watched everybody get off, holding onto my doll and waiting. I knew we weren’t in St. Louis so just held tight. Eventually, when just about everybody was off the plane and it was clear there was something strange going on, the tears started streaming silently down my face. I didn’t see my grandmother anywhere. People were acting weird and really really busy. Nobody said anything to me, so I continued to wait. And wait. Finally the flight attendants and staff started cleaning up the cabin. A nice flight attendant found me and realized I hadn’t been helped, so she explained that I needed to leave the plane and might have missed my next flight. I told her that I had to wait for my grandmother, and wasn’t leaving until I saw her! Needless to say, we worked it out, and I was also given a tour of the cockpit, praised for my bravery, and of course given a little airplane pin to wear on my sweater. Someone escorted me to the substitute plane and I got to my destination safely, though very late. But I felt elated because I’d survived.

that humming in the blood that resembles imminent freedom

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That trip was extra special because I had my grandparents’ undivided attention for a week and they took me to the St. Louis Arch, the art museum, my favorite dollhouse store, and all kinds of restaurants and fun things. Though I enjoyed having siblings and countless cousins to play with when I was usually there, I loved being tucked in by the two of them and briefly experiencing the life of an only child.

Recalling this experience, I'm reminded of a quote by a character in the Don DeLillo book White Noise:

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"Every child ought to have the opportunity to travel thousands of miles alone, for the sake of her self-esteem and independence of mind, with clothes and toiletries of her own choosing.  The sooner we get them in the air, the better. Like swimming or ice skating.  You have to start them young."

I couldn't agree more!