Big Old Jet Airliner, Don't Carry Me Too Far From Home

Friends, do you like flying? Let me be clearer: do you like flying in airplanes? And most specifically, do you like flying in commercial airplanes that require going through security screenings at airports, listening to safety announcements you've heard millions of times before, and getting your elbows slammed by steely flight attendants wielding beverage carts?

Do you like taking your shoes off in front of strangers, walking around in socks that TSA agents may comment on ("I have those same argyle socks at home!"), and showing the world what travel-sized liquids you deem vital to your existence? Do you like waiting not-so-patiently in your seat for the flight attendant to fling a paltry bag of pretzels at you and ask, "What would you like to drink?" so you can say, meekly, so meekly you might even be whispering, as though you're five all over again and scared to talk to grown-ups, "Um, ginger ale?"

Do you like all that? Because I do! I know everything there is to hate about flying: the way rings (or shoes, for that matter) that fit on the ground suddenly become so frighteningly tight they may never come off your bloated, pressurized body again; the smells of so many strangers sharing tight, tight spaces; those same strangers who sometimes commit the crime of wanting to get to know you; the indignity of ritualized snack time, the anticipation of which overwhelms you and the actuality of which only makes you hungrier than before. I know all of that.

I like flying because of what you see. Today, I had to take two different planes, that made three different stops, and I was about to decide I hate flying (see all the reasons listed above). But then, during a layover in Seattle, I started watching people. Specifically, I started watching one little girl getting walked by her mother on a leash. Have you seen this? Kids on leashes? They make the leash fuzzy, and attach it to a cute animal shaped backpack to say, "Hey, I know we leashed our kid, but we leashed out of love." And this little girl was proud of her leash. She sort of swung it around with her hands, and smiled at passersby as if to say, "Jealous?" As if to say, "Don't you wish you had someone so desperate not to lose you that they attached themselves to you with a furry polyester rope?" As if to say, "Lady, I'm that important."

I'm pretty nostalgic when it comes to kids on leashes, because it reminds me of my childhood. I never had a leash, but my brother spent, oh, years on one. I still remember trips through the supermarket with Taylor straining at the end of his rope. I never needed a leash, for me such a safety measure would've been superfluous, because I was always more terrified of losing my parents than they were of losing me. Taylor, on the other hand, wanted to run free. Very free. And fast and loud. And if that's not a metaphor for our two personalities, well, no--it is most definitely a metaphor for our two personalities.

But thinking of leashes leads to thinking of family (positively, of course), and my very favorite thing about flying: the call. I like that moment when you land at your destination, and the ding! signals that you may remove your seat belt, and the entire plane reaches into backpacks or briefcases or purses and pulls out their phones in order to make the call that announces their safe arrival to the person who is picking them up at the airport, or expecting them home for dinner, or is back in the place they just flew from and needs to know that they're still safe. Isn't it the greatest feeling when you make that phone call? Isn't that the grown-up version of a furry, friendly leash designed to keep you connected to the people who love you?

Do you like flying?

Back on solid ground,

Kendall