in transit

You may not know this, but children that fly alone on airplanes are treated pretty much like royalty.

Or, at least, when you are one, it seems like it. I think this special attention is mostly evoked by pity because they assume neglect or a hard life or a natural fear or something and try to make the child forget about it and have a good time.

I didn’t suffer from any of this when I went on my trip. Still, I played right into their hands because I loved the endless supply of legos.

I was twelve years old and on my way from Champaign, Illinois to Idyllwild, California.

To my very own promised land. My Oz. My chocolate factory.

Magic camp.

I remember going to the airport with my mom, dad and sister. I had one suitcase to check with all of the boring stuff. Clothing and soap. All of my most prized possessions were in my backpack to keep me occupied during the flight and the two-hour layover where I would be by myself in Wyoming or somewhere boring.

Mother wept as Father wouldn’t let go as Sister couldn’t have cared less as I said goodbye to them all quickly as I could and rushed to my independence! I was certifiably in charge for eight whole days and I was determined to milk it for all it was worth.

As I look back on it, you must understand it is an exceedingly difficult endeavor to recreate all of the details. So, you can be assured that this brief memoir will be filled with exaggerations and lies. Please don’t sue.

Still, what memories I do retain are vivid. And believe it or not, the camp itself, while amazing, left much to be desired when compared to the adventures in traveling alone as a pre-adolescent.

One of the things I’ll never forget was that each of the three airports had a room specially designed for my type of traveling. Full of children and anything we could ever ask for or imagine. There was television and legos and computer games and video games and chocolate milk and Chutes and Ladders and laser guns and ice cream and funny hats and two or three mom-alternatives to make sure everything went according to plan. I grabbed a funny hat played with the legos and ignored pretty much everything else.

All three rooms I recall being distinctly similar if not exactly the same. That is to say that all of them had legos.

It should go without saying by now that I was pretty much obsessed with legos. I assure you nothing else mattered to this twelve-year old. All the same, the funny hats were pretty awesome bonuses.

Then there were these mom-like people that told you when it was time to go and got a guide to take you to your gate.

I, like every child, would not leave my new Heaven without a fight. These diet-moms’ jobs must’ve really sucked.

You may not know this, but every child that flies solo gets first dibs at open seats to first class. Or, at least, they did when I flew.

Or, at least, I did.

I loved being up in the air. This was my first flight and, as a devious, scheming up-and-coming teen, I knew exactly what to do. If I pretended to be scared I got even more special treatment.

“Would some chocolate milk make you feel better?”

It wouldn’t, but, Pepsi might. Of course, I got as much Pepsi as my little heart desired and the beverage cart hadn’t even come out for regular people yet!

As could be expected, the children that were unfortunate enough to have parents scowled at my special treatment so that the busy stewardess took note, ushered out the cart, and served everybody else.

The flight was otherwise uneventful but all was smooth and it was no time before I was into my layover and back with the legos and ice cream.

This time, I was in the middle of building something extraordinarily. It was a rocket ship and it was huge. I used all of the red blocks and I still had a tip and one wing to go. Green or black or blue or white or yellow would not suffice so I reached into my backpack and got my more than ample supply of reds. As my favorite color, I was now more than prepared to complete my glorious construction.

“Honey,” this pseudo-mom says. “It’s time to go. You’re flight is just about ready to board.”

“I’ve gotta finish this. Plus some of these are mine. Now is not a good time for me. We need to reschedule.”

I either said this or cried a whole bunch. Nonetheless, I was a very stubborn child and I wasn’t going anywhere. Certainly not, at the very least, without MY building blocks.

Unfortunately for me, fortunately for humanity, these sample-moms were good. I was on my flight just in time with most of my red legos. I still don’t believe I was fairly compensated, and legislation is surely pending somewhere.

Orange County was the sight of my last airport. Unfortunately I didn’t get to play for too long before I was picked up for the hour-long drive to the top of the mountains in Idyllwild.

You may not know this, but children who are spoiled enough to have parents who pay money to go to magic camp AND ride in a limousine will get picked up in a limousine.

And it will be awesome.

I don’t want to pretend like magic camp wasn’t equally as awesome. It was. There were celebrity magicians you’ve never heard of. I even met some really cool Canadian kid.

Stil all week long, all I could think of were my red legos, over-caffeinated flights, and my many, many mother-reserves.

And the return flight.