Personal One-Pager to Buddy

Below is my one-pager to my sophomore buddy at West. I had fun writing it. Enjoy!

I board the plane with my eyes wide and hand fastened securely in my mother’s. Foreign knobs and buttons surround me while a stewardess with bright red lips and perfectly sculpted blonde hair bends down to pin a pair of wings on my favorite pink jacket. I smile shyly at her and let my mother lead me to my seat. Everything in this plane is new and exciting and my large six year old eyes strain to memorize each of these experiences. Just a few feet from the door, my mom stops and leads my little sister to the massive leather chair that she will claim as her own during this trip. Just three years old, Callie crawls up unto her seat and immediately begins to suck her thumb. Lacking a source of comfort such as this, I turn to watch everybody else in our cabin. Business men and women line the rows around us, dressed in the best Wall-Street attire. I know immediately that my family and I are out of place with our blue-jeans and comfortable sweatshirts. We are not the “first-class” type.

After my mother situates Callie, she takes me to my seat. Because my father cannot leave his work for this trip, I must sit alone on this plane ride to California. My uncle, the ever-doting California business owner, decided to pay for our trip to visit him and his wife. While I had flown before, I had not known the luxuries of first-class and how snide the people riding it can be. However, undeterred, I let my mother take me to my seat for this last leg of the trip.

As we approached my seat, it becomes clear that an older-gentleman, about fifty, would be my partner for this trip. He has steel grey hair and wears a dark navy suit that probably cost hundreds of dollars. When we approach, he peers down condescendingly from his glasses as to say “How dare you bother me?”

“Hi, sir,” my mother begins, used to this interaction from our previous flights. “This is my daughter, Mackenzie. She’ll be sitting right next to you for this trip. I will be in the seat in front of her in case she needs anything.”

I smile at the man, expectantly thinking that he would immediately be charmed by my six year old presence. Instead, he peers down at me and then my mother with those same steel frame glasses that now seemed to reflect his dark grey eyes. He slowly clears his throat.

“Does she have to sit here?”

My mother, not immune to this kind of behavior, looks at him and answers, “Of course she does.” She then instructs me to sit and hands me my books, my crayons, and my beloved Etch-a-Sketch. The man again clears his throat and in an attempt to pretend I don’t exist, opens a notebook and starts to work.

Although I sense that this man wants nothing to do me and that I am have no place in his plane ride or “first-class” world, I decide to give him another chance. Slowly, but surely, I begin to talk to this man, letting him in on my six year old thoughts, stories, and imagination. I share with him my favorite books and show him my brilliantly-creative Etch-a-Sketch drawings. Eventually, his steely-grey exterior cracks and he begins to ask me questions about school and tell me stories of his own. I can tell that I amused, or at least intrigued, him through my verbose demeanor. When we aren’t talking, I secretly feel pride that I made this “mean” man my friend.

Little did I realize on that plane sixteen years ago, but this moment would become indicative of the person I am today. While I no longer charm business-men through my Etch-a-Sketch drawings, I do believe that every person, regardless of class, background, or orientation, deserves kindness and respect. Although I was not acting out of this deep conviction as a six year old, kindness and respect is something I have intuitively understood from a young age. One of my favorite novelists Kurt Vonnegut would confirm this belief for me several years later after I read an excerpt from his novel God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. As the protagonist of the story prepares for a baptism of two babies, he prepares this speech: “Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—you’ve got to be kind.”

While Vonnegut communicates this idea more simply and eloquently than I ever will, I live by the belief that every person deserves this basic treatment. In short, everybody has a story to tell, and I want to listen. As I approach my teaching career and get ready to interact with people from all walks of life, I will live by this belief that began to show its signs in my six-year old behaviors. While the benefits of such kindness may not manifest itself in obvious ways, most people respond positively to such behavior.

Back to the plane. Several hours into the ride, dinner arrives. Stewardesses place chicken with some sort of vegetables in front of us. After helping my sister with her portion, my mother turns back to assist me. To her surprise, she sees the steely-old business man with a small smile on his face, listening to my latest adventure. He helped me unfold my napkin and while I regale him with my words and quirky personality, he slowly cuts my chicken into manageable portions.