Standing By

I first flew in an airplane when I was about 15 years old. That was back when people dressed up when they flew, when they didn’t wear flip-flops (and probably not thongs, which is what we called flip-flops then) and tank-tops. I remember dressing up a bit, probably wearing the best clothes I owned: a pair of slacks, a shirt with buttons, dress shoes. That’s about as good as my wardrobe gets even now, though I think I do own a tie that is probably coiled on the floor in the back of my closet.

This wasn’t long after we had moved from Illinois to California, and I bought my own ticket with money I’d saved from my paper route I was forced to give up when we moved. I was on my way to reconnect with friends I’d left behind. I don’t remember anything about the trip itself, and I find it odd that I recall what I wore on the plane and that my ticket cost $168. Go figure. I was also flying standby, which you could do then fairly easily. You could go to the airport, buy a standby ticket, and someone at some point would say, “Standby passenger Bob, please come to the counter.” (In the navy, when our ship was at sea and the water was rough and the ship was about to turn, a sailor would announce over the intercom, “Stand by for heavy rolls.” Then the ship would turn and roll, and the people who were prone to seasickness would do so. It was great fun for those of us who did not get seasick.)

My cousin, the oldest cousin in the family, was flying with me, sitting behind me; she must have been visiting from Illinois. As we sat on the plane, I read the information packet about what to do in an emergency. “Hey, Bob,” she said when we started to taxi, “we’re moving!”

This same cousin is graduating from college in just a few days, and I am going to attend the ceremony. When she started college a half-decade ago, I promised her I would do this. I am very proud of her because sometimes her life has not been easy. She once was a flight attendant for a major airline (she might have even started out as a stewardess), and when that airline was bought by another major airline, she worked for that airline for awhile and then lost her job—was “furloughed.” Afterward, she toiled hard: sold real estate, worked in a coffee shop, raised 2 sons, managed to stay married when all hell was breaking loose around her… And all the while remained in school. I have known other, less inconvenienced people who dropped out at the first challenge—you teach enough college, you see it all the time.

Oddly enough, she was unfurloughed a few of months ago, so she has been flying again. The thing is, she also has enough years working as a flight attendant that she can retire relatively soon. Then, if all goes well, she will become a middle-school teacher, a profession that is not unlike working as a flight attendant. So, I will be flying to St. Louis in a couple of days, and along with my sister and an assortment of my cousin's acquaintances, friends, and relatives, I will watch the graduation and be very happy.

And already I’m thinking: teaching middle-school kids? Cripes! Talk about standing by for heavy rolls!