Minor Traveling Unattended

   Right before the jetway door closed, I scrambled
aboard the plane going from LA to Chicago, lugging
my laptop and overstuffed briefcase. It was the
first leg of an important business trip a few weeks
before Christmas, and I was running late. I had
a ton of work to catch up on, half wishing, half
praying I muttered, "Please God, do me a favor;
let there be an empty seat next to mine, I don't
need any distractions."

   I was on the aisle in a two seat row. Across
sat a businesswoman with her nose buried in a
newspaper. No problem. But in the seat beside
mine, next to the window, was a young boy wearing
a big red tag around his neck: Minor Traveling Unattended.

   The kid sat perfectly still, hands in his lap,
eyes straight ahead. He'd probably been told never
to talk to strangers. Good, I thought.

   Then the flight attendant came by. "Michael,
I have to sit down because we're about to take
off," she said to the little boy. "This nice man
will answer any of your questions, okay?"

   Did I have a choice? I offered my hand,
and Michael shook it twice, straight up and down.
"Hi, I'm Jerry," I said. "You must be about 7 years old."

   "I'll bet you don't have any kids," he responded.

   "Why do you think that? Sure I do." I took
out my wallet to show him pictures.

   "Because I'm six."

   "I was way off, huh?"

   The captains' voice came over the speakers:
"Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff." Michael
pulled his seat belt tighter and gripped the armrests
as the jet engines roared. I leaned over and said,
"Right about now, I usually say a prayer. I ask God
to keep the plane safe and to send angels to protect us."

   "Amen," he said, then added, "but I'm not afraid
of dying. I'm not afraid because my mama's already in heaven."

   "I'm sorry." I said.

   "Why are you sorry?" he asked, peering out the
window as the plane lifted off.

   "I'm sorry you don't have your mama here."
My briefcase jostled at my feet, reminding me
of all the work I needed to do.

   "Look at those boats down there!" Michael
said as the plane banked over the Pacific. "Where
are they going?"

   "Just going sailing, having a good time.
And there's probably a fishing boat full of guys
like you and me."

   "Doing what?" he asked.

   "Just fishing, maybe for bass or tuna.
Does your dad ever take you fishing?"

   "I don't have a dad." Michael sadly responded.

   Only 6 years old and he didn't have a dad,
and his Mom had died, and here he was flying halfway
across the country all by himself. The least I could
do was make sure he had a good flight. With my foot
I pushed my briefcase under my seat.

   "Do they have a bathroom here?" he asked,
squirming a little.

   "Sure," I said, "let me take you there." I
showed him how to work the 'Occupied' sign, and
what buttons to push on the sink, then he closed the door.

   When he emerged, he wore a wet shirt and a huge
smile. "That sink shoots water everywhere!"
The attendants smiled.

   Michael got the VIP treatment from the crew
during snack time. I took out my laptop and tried
to work on a talk I had to give, but my mind kept
going to Michael. I couldn't stop looking at the
crumpled grocery bag on the floor by his seat. He'd
told me that everything he owned was in that bag. Poor kid.

   While Michael was getting a tour of the cockpit
the flight attendant told me his grandmother would
pick him up in Chicago. In the seat pocket a large
manila envelope held all the paperwork regarding his
custody. He came back explaining, "I got wings!
I got cards! I got more peanuts. I saw the pilot
and he said I could come back anytime!"

   For a while he stared at the manila envelope.
"What are you thinking?" I asked Michael. He didn't
answer. He buried his face in his hands and started
sobbing. It had been years since I'd heard a little
one cry like that. My kids were grown -- still I
don't think they'd ever cried so hard. I rubbed
his back and wondered where the flight attendant was.

   "What's the matter buddy?" I asked.

   All I got were muffled words "I don't know
my grandma. Mama didn't want her to come visit
and see her sick. What if Grandma doesn't want
me? Where will I go?"

   "Michael, do you remember the Christmas story?
Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus? Remember how
they came to Bethlehem just before Jesus was born?
It was late and cold, and they didn't have anywhere
to stay, no family, no hotels, not even hospitals
where babies could be born. Well, God was watching
out for them. He found them a place to stay; a
stable with animals."

   "Wait, wait," Michael tugged on my sleeve.
"I know Jesus. I remember now." Then he closed
his eyes, lifted his head and began to sing. His
voice rang out with a strength that rocked his
tiny frame. "Jeeesus looooves me--thiiiiiis I
knowwwwwww. For the Biiiiiible tells meeeeee
sooooo....."

   Passengers turned or stood up to see the
little boy who made the large sound. Michael
didn't notice his audience. With his eyes shut
tight and voice lifted high, he was in a good
place. "You've got a great voice," I told him
when he was done. "I've never heard anyone sing
like that."

   "Mama said God gave me good pipes just like
my Grandma's," he said. "My Grandma loves to sing,
she sings in her church choir."

   "Well, I'll bet you can sing there too.
The two of you will be running that choir."

   The seat belt sign came on as we approached
O'Hare. The flight attendant came by and said
we just have a few minutes now, but she told
Michael it's important that he put on his seat
belt. People started stirring in their seats,
like the kids before the final school bell. By
the time the seat belt sign went off, passengers
were rushing down the aisle. Michael and I stayed
seated.

   "Are you gonna go with me?" he asked.

   "I wouldn't miss it for the world buddy!"
I assured him.

   Clutching his bag and the manila envelope
in one hand, he grabbed my hand with the other.
The two of us followed the flight attendant down
the jetway. All the noises of the airport seemed
to fill the corridor.  Michael stopped, flipping
his hand from mine, he dropped to his knees. His
mouth quivered. His eyes brimmed with tears

   "What's wrong Michael? I'll carry you if you want."

   He opened his mouth and moved his lips, but it
was as if his words were stuck in his throat. When
I knelt next to him, he grabbed my neck. I felt
his warm, wet face as he whispered in my ear,
"I want my mama!!!"  I tried to stand, but Michael
squeezed my neck even harder. Then I heard a rattle
of footsteps on the corridor's metal floor.

   "Is that you baby?" I couldn't see the woman
behind me, but I heard the warmth in her voice.
"Oh baby," she cried. "Come here. Grandma loves
you so much. I need a hug baby. Let go of that
nice man," she knelt beside Michael and me.

   Michael's grandma stroked his arm. I smelled
a hint of orange blossoms.

   "You've got folks waiting for you out there
Michael. Do you know that you've got aunts and
uncles and cousins?" She patted his skinny
shoulders and started humming. Then she lifted
her head and sang. I wondered if the flight
attendant told her what to sing, or maybe she
just knew what was right. Her strong, clear voice
filled the passageway, "Jesus loves me -- this
I know..."

   Michael's gasps quieted. Still holding him,
I rose, nodded hello to his grandma and watched
her pick up the grocery bag. Right before we got
to the doorway to the terminal, Michael loosened
his grip around my neck and reached for his grandma.

   As soon as she walked across the threshold
with him, cheers erupted. From the size of the crowd,
I figured family, friends, pastors, elders,
deacons, choir members and most of the neighbors
had come to meet Michael. A tall man tugged on
Michael's ear and pulled off the red sign around
his neck. It no longer applied.

   As I made my way to the gate for my connecting
flight, I barely noticed the weight of my overstuffed
briefcase and laptop. I started to wonder who
would be in the seat next to mine this time......
And I smiled.

-- Jerry Seiden