Those were Jalen’s first words to me, “Don’t worry. I’ve read the directions and if anything happens, I’ve got it under control.”
Jalen Milek Travis will be eight years old in February.
Perhaps I should back up a bit. I boarded the plane to return home from a business trip. When I checked in, was delighted to discover that other than my own seat assignment, my row was empty. Wow! This NEVER happens anymore. When you travel a lot, you know that this feels like hitting the jackpot! No shoulder to shoulder squishing with people you don’t know, no forced conversation…room to spread out a bit. I could definitely see a nap happening on the almost two hour flight.
Making my way to My Own Personal Row after boarding the plane, I spotted a young boy in the window seat…OF MY ROW. Ooohhh, no…this has got to be a mistake. Now, before you go thinking poorly of me, just ask any frequent traveler what they think when finding a child of any age within a seven row radius of your seat. Right, my thoughts exactly.
I managed to keep all grumbles from escaping my lips and stow briefcase and carry-on, keeping the sandwich and bottled tea out for later. Just perfect, MY row..marred with a….child! And a child traveling alone, since there was no apparently attached adult in sight. Alright, sister, let’s just make the best of this.
So, I smiled and said “hi, how are you?”
“Hi! I’m fine, thank you.” he replied.
Thank you. He said thank you. This is already going better than anticipated. And then he said the words I will never ever forget:
“Don’t worry. I’ve read the directions and if anything happens, I’ve got it under control. See, the exit doors are here and if we are flying over water, the floating thing is under here”. He pointed out the exit right behind us and then leaned over patting the underside of the seat in between us.
“Oh well, I feel safer already.” I told him, thinking that he would probably be really handy in the event of a crisis, since I hadn’t read the ‘instruction’ card in the seat-pocket in years.
“They don’t have a boat or anything like that on this plane.” He said seriously, but shrugged as if to say, oh well. I assured him that we weren’t flying over water today. Jalen brightened a bit, “Well, that’s good then!”
And then he started talking. And talking. And talking.
And talking.
He showed me pictures in the graphic book he was reading and then carefully explained how the hero is killed not once, but three times. And how the grandmother actually throws herself in front of the hero and is stabbed and she does die. “She sacrificed herself for her family.” he said. So while I had been thinking that this is NOT appropriate material for an almost eight year old to be reading, apparently there is a lesson provided within the mayhem and Jalen has learned that lesson. While he continued to tell me the whole story, I began to unpack my food.
Jalen does not stop talking but he slows down a little. And looks at my food.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Would you like half my sandwich?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
So I give him half my sandwich and a few SunChips. And assure him they’ll be around with the cart and something to drink soon.
And he continues to talk in between bites. But not with food in his mouth.
Let me tell you a little about Jalen. He has a number of siblings, 3 or 4, I think, but I’m not sure because the exact name, ages and relationships of all the people he talked about got a bit jumbled while I tried to keep up. He has at least two brothers, the youngest is seven months old. He watched Scary Movie 1, 2 and 3 (?) at his auntie’s house, who said that she is NOT going to watch kid stuff all day long, no sir, she’ll watch what she wants to watch and he’ll be happy watching adult stuff too. So now I also don’t need to watch Scary Movie 1, 2 and 3 because Jalen told me all about them.
My nap is nudging me….and I can tell that there is no shut-eye in my immediate future, because Jalen is now telling me how he kills bugs at home. They are as tall as he is (about 3 and half feet) and he first hits them with a baseball bat. If that doesn’t stop them, he uses….a Samurai sword. And slashes them right in half. And then they, she actually (he clarified), has babies and he has to kill them too. I’m thinking about the fact that there is too much violence in movies and video games. More than that, I’m amused, amazed and entertained by his imagination. I invite him to come to my house and kill my bugs.
About an hour into the flight, Jalen exclaims (yes, exclaims), “Wow. This is a really good day!”
“You must be excited to be going to see your dad.” He sees his Dad once a year at Christmas.
“Yes, I am. But what I mean is that you’re a really nice lady. I mean, you shared your sandwich and your chips and you’re talking to me and everything.”
I’m totally hooked and Jalen is the fisherman. What a little sweetie pie, I’m thinking. Such a nice child, how could I have had any bad thoughts about sharing my row with this little boy.
“I’ve had coffee with my grandma and grandpa.” he says.
I’m drinking a cup of coffee. It’s almost all gone.
“Yep. They drink coffee and sometimes I drink coffee too.”
This kid is good.
Now, okay, it’s just coffee. Not beer, liquor or medicine of any kind. But let’s face, this kid does not need caffeine. He’s only almost eight. I take a nice swallow of my coffee.
And give him a sip.
I doubt his dad will understand the reason Jalen has so much energy.
But I can’t say no. And I was around his age when I had coffee with my grandpa for the first time. So there.
“How old is your little boy?” he asks.
“I don’t have a little boy.” I tell him.
“Really? Wow, I thought you probably did.”
“I have three daughters. But I do have two grandsons. In fact, one of my grandsons looks a lot like you.” And of course, I dig out the photo album to show him pictures of the entire family. He starts laughing hysterically when he sees my older grandson…”He looks just like me!” And they could be brothers, seriously. So I take a picture of Jalen with my camera phone to show my grandson and Jalen is happy to pose, with his book of course, cuz maybe my grandson has read that book too.
I’ve broken the rules, turned on my phone while in the air just to take a picture of Jalen.
He fishes a box out of his pocket. It has a black bottom and a clear top with a hinge and latch to keep the top closed. He has a dollar, a copper leaf on a chain and a pin. He takes the pin out of the box and hands it to me. “Look at this.”, he says. I examine the pin carefully and tell him I think it’s very cool. As I hand it back to him, he waves me off. “Please, I want you to have it. You’ve been so nice to me.” And he shows me how to pinch the little tabs together to make the back stick to the pin part.
The pin says “Kids Clubhouse” and it is still pinned to my dressy wool jacket.
I thank Jalen profusely and promise him that I will think of him every time I wear that pin and remember how much fun we had on our plane trip together.
“There’s only one thing wrong with me.”
Huh? “Oh, Jalen,” I say, “I can’t imagine that there’s anything wrong with you.” I’m now president of Jalen’s fan club.
“Well, I have nice manners and I’m a big help around the house.”
“Yes, you do have nice manners and I’m sure you are very helpful to your mom. See, nothing wrong with you!”
“Well, sometimes I talk too much.”
Jalen is already introspective.
“Who says you talk too much?”
“Everybody in my family.”
Smothering a chuckle I tell him, “You just keep right on talking and you know what? In a few years, I’m gonna turn on the TV and there you’ll be. Talking. And the whole world will be listening. Don’t worry about talking too much.”
I mean, how could I join in chastising him for talking too much. Me, the Mouth of the South. As my husband says, ask her what time it is and she’ll tell you how the watch works.
Jalen says to me very seriously, “Well, there’s a time for talking and a time for quiet.”
Jalen is wise beyond his years.
And with that, he lays his head down on the seat between us and goes to sleep.
Merry Christmas, Jalen. I wish you the best for all your life and thank you for sharing yourself with me. I’m changed because of it.