Peek-a-Boo!

So I’m on a commuter flight from Raleigh to Philadelphia. I have an aisle seat toward the back of the plane and the window seat is thankfully empty. I settle in like a seasoned traveling pro, grab my headphones, and crank up a game of Texas Hold-em on my iPad. 

Right across the aisle from me sat a lovely young woman and her little boy who looked like he was two or three years old. Now, if you travel for business, you probably know that kids can be a nightmare, and this one was raising the bar. For the first 20 minutes of the flight he was jumping around, kicking the seat, making all kinds of noise, and being a royal pain in the butt. This short hop was turning into a long slog. 

All the time I kept hoping that mom would reign him in and settle him down, but she was totally oblivious to his bad behavior. Frankly, it was starting to bother me. 

I have two kids myself and I know how hard it can be to fly with children. So I was reluctant to judge this woman too harshly. But she was in another world, totally disinterested in the way her little brat was making us all wish we had taken Amtrak. She was clearly derelict in her parenting duty. I mean why didn't she bring crayons and a coloring book, a cache of toys, or a Hefty bag full of Goldfish to keep him occupied? What kind of mother gets on a plane with a young child and comes totally unprepared like this?

Whenever Rebecca and I flew with our girls we brought a full carry-on with every imaginable diversion. Distraction and focus-shifting were essential travel tactics more vital than seatbelts.

Armed with my self-righteous parenting wisdom, I decided to get involved. I figured I’d be nice at first, but was prepared to escalate my insistence that she supervise her terror-tyke.

I started by catching the little guy’s eye with a game of Peek-a-Boo…a universal kid crowd pleaser.  Sure enough he was snagged and he stared at me with these wide eyes like I was Santa Claus about to open the toy sack. Instantly he calmed down and started to giggle and smile. He had this huge ear-to-ear grin and his face lit up with two huge, twinkling, brown eyes. 

Mom was still out of it.  She didn’t see or care what was happening, so I kept at it, just trying to engage him and maybe settle him down a bit.  Honestly, it was totally a self-serving gesture. I wanted quiet!

After a minute or so, the little boy pointed at me and said to his mother, “He’s funny!” She casually glanced over at me and I smiled and said, “You have a sweet little boy.”  She half smiled back, thanked me and went back to her dazed detachment.  But I had the kid’s attention now and decided to raise the ante a bit. “What's your name?” I asked him.  He giggled and smiled again. She answered for him. “It's Joey.” “Hi Joey…I'm Frank.”

And so began a bond in that instantaneous, innocent way friendships do when you’re two.  All the bad behavior was gone in a flash and I congratulated myself for being so good with kids.  The other passengers nearby nodded in relieved approval.  I was saving their day too.

All he needed was a little attention, but Joey’s mom couldn’t care less.  So I figured if she was unwilling or unable to be a good parent, then I would demonstrate the proper behavior myself.  She was young and this was probably her first child, so maybe I could teach this novice a thing or two by my superior parental example. 

Joey and I hit it off big time and he had captured my heart too.  I asked his mother if I could read a story to him.  She tepidly agreed, so I moved over to the window and Joey sprang into the aisle seat next to me. We had a great time reading one of my youngest daughter’s storybooks on the iPad and playing more Peek-a-Boo.

Playing with Joey reminded me of my girls when they were his age.  Time passes so damn fast, but for a few minutes, this joy-filled little boy transported me back to that wondrous new-parent world where everything is fun and laughter and curious exploration.  The memories of those days last a lifetime.  And kids are such an easy audience that every little game I tried was a major hit with him.   

Finally it came time to land and Joey had to go back to his mom, but the bond was there.  He kept looking over at me.  I smiled and made airplane landing gestures. He just giggled and brightened up like a bulb.  And then, quick study that he obviously was, he started playing Peek-a-Boo with me!

He didn't have the timing quite right and was too eager to see my reaction to fully cover his eyes with his little hands, but I made a funny face and a big look of surprise every time he looked over.  We were having a ball…just me and Joey.  The brat had magically transformed into the sweetest thing I could have asked for in a seatmate.  

When we reached the gate, everyone started to get up to grab their bags.  I decided to attempt a conversation with his mom.  “So do you live in Philly?” I asked. “No…near Jacksonville,” she replied quietly. “Oh, what brings you to Philadelphia?” I followed up enthusiastically.

She paused for a couple of seconds in a way that seemed odd and then said simply and calmly, “We are going to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware. My husband was just killed in Afghanistan and we are picking up his body.”

In the brief, numbed eternity we stood there, she shared part of the story.  Her husband was a Marine.  He had been deployed for over a year and was scheduled to come home next month.  They were stationed at Camp Lejeune, but now she was thinking of heading back home to Cleveland with Joey where she would have to move back in with her parents.  As she left, she said in a sad, measured way that she didn’t know what she was going to do next, but getting through today was all she could focus on right now. 

I have no happy ending to this story.  Joey and his mom left the plane with a uniformed military escort who had been sitting two rows behind her.  Her story left me crushed. I crumpled back down in my seat and cried like a grown man shouldn’t in public.  Finally the flight attendants came back to see why I wasn’t getting off the plane.  I tried to speak but no words came out, so I just grabbed my bag and staggered up the aisle. 

Make this Memorial Day more than just a day off and a BBQ.  Take a minute to think about why we are remembering and why it is so important we do so.  A military member in uniform takes a willing personal risk on our behalf and they should always be honored and respected. But they also have families and loved ones who share that risk in so many unseen ways. Memorial Day is their day too!

The lives lost, the wounds unhealed, the families changed forever, the children who will never see their father, mother, brother or sister.  The sacrifice that so many have made for all of us and indeed, for much of the rest of the world. To me they are the living embodiment of the fact that we are all part of something special and worthy of preserving, protecting, and defending.   

So please think about them and then do one more thing. 

If you see anyone in uniform or know of anyone who has served, is serving now or who has a loved-one in the military, thank them somehow.  Pick up a restaurant tab, shake their hand, send a note, or make a donation to one of the military relief organizations who help the families of deployed service members and veterans.  These are very special people and they have given and continue to give more than most of us can ever appreciate. 

Many years ago I was an Army officer, and I am proud of the job my team and I did. But I have to admit, I feel a little guilty when someone graciously says, “Thank you for your service.”  My entire tour of duty was at Fort Meade in Maryland, safe at a desk in one of the most secure buildings on the planet.  I was as far from the front line as you could be. 

But I have relatives who served in Korea, Viet Nam, Iraq and Afghanistan. A few stories they’ve told add a new dimension to the harsh and frightening reality of military service. 

How must it feel to be in combat fearing for your life every day?  For those family members back home the stress is only slightly less intense. It’s not something the average person can even grasp. 

Joey’s father was a Marine…the tip of the spear.  He volunteered for war when his son was an infant.  He left his wife and child to serve America in a distant, violent land in the hope that we at home would never have to face a similar horror. 

Joey would never get to play catch, put up a tire swing, build a model, go fishing, or watch football with his dad.  That brave young mother, who I was so quick to criticize, would be forced to carry on alone with many of her dreams shattered.  And Joey would have little more than a vague memory and maybe some photos of his dad.   

On Monday I will think of that Marine, but I will also think of Joey and his mother and the millions like them who serve and sacrifice in silence. I hope they are doing well wherever they are today. Perhaps before he went to war, Joey's dad had a chance to see that amazing smile and those huge, twinkling brown eyes…

…and play one game of Peek-a-Boo.