Last week I was travelling back to Florida from New York, and I in Row 27B had the good fortune to sit next to JD in 27C. JD was eleven years old and skinny. He had on a red and white wristle, the symbol for an unaccompanied minor. His seat pocket was bursting with a gallon size Ziploc full of snacks. I was hungry, he was a bit bored. It was a match made in heaven, or at least in the clouds.
We played hangman for nearly the entire flight. He had messy boy writing compared to my girls who are constantly adding squiggles and curlicues onto ever letter in the alphabet. Our categories included movies, food, and the famous anything category. No one got hung. At one point I begged to take a nap. JD was clearly bummed. But when I woke up, we resumed our play.
Things were going swimmingly. I had a thought. I asked JD if he would basically write a letter or reccomendation to my girls. I in turn wrote a letter to his dad praising JD's mature plane behavior. We took a picture for posterity.
Of course this all leaves me with the slightly irksome questions, "Why do i have vastly more patience with kids who don't belong to me???"
