Right before the jetway door closed, I scrambled aboard the plane going
>from LA to Chicago, lugging my laptop and overstuffed briefcase. It was the
>first leg of an important business trip a few weeks before Christmas, and I
>was running late. I had a ton of work to catch up on. Half wishing, half
>praying I muttered, "Please God, do me a favor; let there be an empty seat
>next to mine, I don't need any distractions."
>>
>I was on the aisle in a two seat row. Across sat a businesswoman with her
>nose buried in a newspaper. No problem. But in the seat beside mine, next
>to the window, was a young boy wearing a big red tag around his neck:
>"Minor -- Traveling Unattended."
>
>The kid sat perfectly still, hands in his lap, eyes straight ahead. He'd
>probably been told never to talk to strangers. "Good," I thought.
>
>Then the flight attendant came by. "Michael, I have to sit down because
>we're about to take off," she said to the little boy. "This nice man will
>answer any of your questions, okay?"
>
>Did I have a choice? I offered my hand, and Michael shook it twice,
>straight up and down.
>
>"Hi, I'm Jerry," I said. "You must be about seven years old."
>
>
>"I'll bet you don't have any kids," he responded.
>
>"Why do you think that? Sure I do." I took out my wallet to show him
>pictures.
>
>"Because I'm six."
>
>"I was way off, huh?"
>
>The captains' voice came over the speakers, "Flight attendants, prepare for
>takeoff."
>
>Michael pulled his seat belt tighter and gripped the armrests as the jet
>engines roared.
>
>
>I leaned over, "Right about now, I usually say a prayer. I asked God to
>keep the plane safe and to send angels to protect us."
>
>"Amen," he said, then added, "But I'm not afraid of dying. I'm not afraid
>because my mama's already in Heaven."
>
>"I'm sorry." I said.
>
>"Why are you sorry?" he asked, peering out the window as the plane lifted
>off.
>
>
>"I'm sorry you don't have your mama here."
>
>My briefcase jostled at my feet, reminding me of all the work I needed to
>do.
>
>"Look at those boats down there!" Michael said as the plane banked over the
>Pacific. "Where are they going?"
>
>"Just going sailing, having a good time. And there's probably a fishing
>boat full of guys like you and me."
>
>
>"Doing what?" He asked.
>
>"Just fishing, maybe for bass or tuna. Does your dad ever take you
>fishing?"
>
>"I don't have a dad," Michael sadly responded.
>
>Only six years old and he didn't have a dad, and his Mom had died, and here
>he was flying halfway across the country all by himself. The least I could
>do was make sure he had a good flight. With my foot I pushed my briefcase
>under my seat.
>
>
>"Do they have a bathroom here?" he asked, squirming a little.
>
>"Sure," I said, "Let me take you there."
>
>I showed him how to work the "Occupied" sign, and what buttons to push on
>the sink, then he closed the door. When he emerged, he wore a wet shirt and
>a huge smile.
>
>"That sink shoots water everywhere!"
>
>The attendants smiled.
>
>Michael got the VIP treatment from the crew during snack time. I took out
>my laptop and tried to work on a talk I had to give, but my mind kept going
>to Michael. I couldn't stop looking at the crumpled grocery bag on the
>floor by his seat. He'd told me that everything he owned was in that bag.
>Poor kid.
>
>While Michael was getting a tour of the cockpit the flight attendant told
>me his grandmother would pick him up in Chicago. In the seat pocket a large
>manila envelope held all the paperwork regarding his custody. He came back
>explaining, "I got wings! I got cards! I got more peanuts. I saw the pilot
>and he said I could come back anytime!"
>
>
>
>For a while he stared at the manila envelope.
>
>"What are you thinking?" I asked Michael.
>
>He didn't answer. He buried his face in his hands and started sobbing. It
>had been years since I'd heard a little one cry like that. My kids were
>grown -- still I don't think they'd ever cried so hard. I rubbed his back
>and wondered where the flight attendant was.
>
>"What's the matter buddy?" I asked.
>
>
>All I got were the muffled words, "I don't know my grandma. Mama didn't
>want her to come visit and see her sick. What if Grandma doesn't want me?
>Where will I go?"
>
>"Michael, do you remember the Christmas story? Mary and Joseph and the baby
>Jesus? Remember how they came to Bethlehem just before Jesus was born? It
>was late and cold, and they didn't have anywhere to stay, no family, no
>hotels, not even hospitals where babies could be born. Well, God was
>watching out for them. He found them a place to stay; a stable with
>animals."
>
>
>"Wait, wait," Michael tugged on my sleeve.. "I know Jesus. I remember now."
>Then he closed his eyes, lifted his head and began to sing. His voice rang
>out with a strength that rocked his tiny frame. "Jeeesus looooves
>me--thiiiiiis I knowwwwwww. For the Biiiiiible tells meeeeee sooooo....."
>
>Passengers turned or stood up to see the little boy who made the large
>sound. Michael didn't notice his audience. With his eyes shut tight and
>voice lifted high, he was in a good place.
>
>
>"You've got a great voice," I told him when he was done.. "I've never heard
>anyone sing like that."
>
>"Mama said God gave me good pipes just like my grandma's," he said. "My
>grandma loves to sing, she sings in her church choir."
>
>"Well, I'll bet you can sing there, too. The two of you will be running
>that choir."
>
>
>The seat belt sign came on as we approached O'Hare. The flight attendant
>came by and said, "We just have a few minutes now." But she told Michael
>that it was important that he put his seat belt on. People started stirring
>in their seats, like the kids before the final school bell. By the time the
>seat belt sign went off, passengers were rushing down the aisle. Michael
>and I stayed seated.
>
>"Are you gonna go with me?" he asked.
>
>"I wouldn't miss it for the world, buddy!" I assured him.
>
>
>
>Clutching his bag and the manila envelope in one hand, he grabbed my hand
>with the other. The two of us followed the flight attendant down the
>jetway. All the noises of the airport seemed to fill the corridor.
>
>Michael stopped, slipping his hand from mine, he dropped to his knees. His
>mouth quivered. His eyes brimmed with tears.
>
>"What's wrong Michael? I'll carry you if you want."
>
>
>He opened his mouth and moved his lips, but it was as if his words were
>stuck in his throat. When I knelt next to him, he grabbed my neck. I felt
>his warm, wet face as he whispered in my ear, "I want my mama!"
>
>I tried to stand, but Michael squeezed my neck even harder. Then I heard a
>rattle of footsteps on the corridor's metal floor.
>
>"Is that you, baby?"
>
>I couldn't see the woman behind me, but I heard the warmth in her voice.
>
>
>"Oh baby," she cried. "Come here. Grandma loves you so much. I need a hug,
>baby. Let go of that nice man." She knelt beside Michael and me.
>
>Michael's grandma stroked his arm. I smelled a hint of orange blossoms.
>
>"You've got folks waiting for you out there, Michael.. Do you know that
>you've got aunts, and uncles and cousins?"
>
>She patted his skinny shoulders and started humming. Then she lifted her
>head and sang. I wondered if the flight attendant told her what to sing, or
>maybe she just knew what was right. Her strong, clear voice filled the
>passageway, "Jesus loves me -- this I know..."
>
>Michael's gasps quieted. Still holding him, I rose, nodded "hello" to his
>grandma and watched her pick up the grocery bag. Right before we got to the
>doorway to the terminal, Michael loosened his grip around my neck and
>reached for his grandma.
>
>
>As soon as she walked across the threshold with him, cheers erupted. From
>the size of the crowed, I figured family, friends, pastors, elders,
>deacons, choir members and most of the neighbors had come to meet Michael.
>A tall man tugged on Michael's ear and pulled off the red sign around his
>neck. It no longer applied.
>
>As I made my way to the gate for my connecting flight, I barely noticed the
>weight of my overstuffed briefcase and laptop. I started to wonder who
>would be in the seat next to mine this time. .... And I smiled.
>
>~By Jerry Seiden~
>from LA to Chicago, lugging my laptop and overstuffed briefcase. It was the
>first leg of an important business trip a few weeks before Christmas, and I
>was running late. I had a ton of work to catch up on. Half wishing, half
>praying I muttered, "Please God, do me a favor; let there be an empty seat
>next to mine, I don't need any distractions."
>>
>I was on the aisle in a two seat row. Across sat a businesswoman with her
>nose buried in a newspaper. No problem. But in the seat beside mine, next
>to the window, was a young boy wearing a big red tag around his neck:
>"Minor -- Traveling Unattended."
>
>The kid sat perfectly still, hands in his lap, eyes straight ahead. He'd
>probably been told never to talk to strangers. "Good," I thought.
>
>Then the flight attendant came by. "Michael, I have to sit down because
>we're about to take off," she said to the little boy. "This nice man will
>answer any of your questions, okay?"
>
>Did I have a choice? I offered my hand, and Michael shook it twice,
>straight up and down.
>
>"Hi, I'm Jerry," I said. "You must be about seven years old."
>
>
>"I'll bet you don't have any kids," he responded.
>
>"Why do you think that? Sure I do." I took out my wallet to show him
>pictures.
>
>"Because I'm six."
>
>"I was way off, huh?"
>
>The captains' voice came over the speakers, "Flight attendants, prepare for
>takeoff."
>
>Michael pulled his seat belt tighter and gripped the armrests as the jet
>engines roared.
>
>
>I leaned over, "Right about now, I usually say a prayer. I asked God to
>keep the plane safe and to send angels to protect us."
>
>"Amen," he said, then added, "But I'm not afraid of dying. I'm not afraid
>because my mama's already in Heaven."
>
>"I'm sorry." I said.
>
>"Why are you sorry?" he asked, peering out the window as the plane lifted
>off.
>
>
>"I'm sorry you don't have your mama here."
>
>My briefcase jostled at my feet, reminding me of all the work I needed to
>do.
>
>"Look at those boats down there!" Michael said as the plane banked over the
>Pacific. "Where are they going?"
>
>"Just going sailing, having a good time. And there's probably a fishing
>boat full of guys like you and me."
>
>
>"Doing what?" He asked.
>
>"Just fishing, maybe for bass or tuna. Does your dad ever take you
>fishing?"
>
>"I don't have a dad," Michael sadly responded.
>
>Only six years old and he didn't have a dad, and his Mom had died, and here
>he was flying halfway across the country all by himself. The least I could
>do was make sure he had a good flight. With my foot I pushed my briefcase
>under my seat.
>
>
>"Do they have a bathroom here?" he asked, squirming a little.
>
>"Sure," I said, "Let me take you there."
>
>I showed him how to work the "Occupied" sign, and what buttons to push on
>the sink, then he closed the door. When he emerged, he wore a wet shirt and
>a huge smile.
>
>"That sink shoots water everywhere!"
>
>The attendants smiled.
>
>Michael got the VIP treatment from the crew during snack time. I took out
>my laptop and tried to work on a talk I had to give, but my mind kept going
>to Michael. I couldn't stop looking at the crumpled grocery bag on the
>floor by his seat. He'd told me that everything he owned was in that bag.
>Poor kid.
>
>While Michael was getting a tour of the cockpit the flight attendant told
>me his grandmother would pick him up in Chicago. In the seat pocket a large
>manila envelope held all the paperwork regarding his custody. He came back
>explaining, "I got wings! I got cards! I got more peanuts. I saw the pilot
>and he said I could come back anytime!"
>
>
>
>For a while he stared at the manila envelope.
>
>"What are you thinking?" I asked Michael.
>
>He didn't answer. He buried his face in his hands and started sobbing. It
>had been years since I'd heard a little one cry like that. My kids were
>grown -- still I don't think they'd ever cried so hard. I rubbed his back
>and wondered where the flight attendant was.
>
>"What's the matter buddy?" I asked.
>
>
>All I got were the muffled words, "I don't know my grandma. Mama didn't
>want her to come visit and see her sick. What if Grandma doesn't want me?
>Where will I go?"
>
>"Michael, do you remember the Christmas story? Mary and Joseph and the baby
>Jesus? Remember how they came to Bethlehem just before Jesus was born? It
>was late and cold, and they didn't have anywhere to stay, no family, no
>hotels, not even hospitals where babies could be born. Well, God was
>watching out for them. He found them a place to stay; a stable with
>animals."
>
>
>"Wait, wait," Michael tugged on my sleeve.. "I know Jesus. I remember now."
>Then he closed his eyes, lifted his head and began to sing. His voice rang
>out with a strength that rocked his tiny frame. "Jeeesus looooves
>me--thiiiiiis I knowwwwwww. For the Biiiiiible tells meeeeee sooooo....."
>
>Passengers turned or stood up to see the little boy who made the large
>sound. Michael didn't notice his audience. With his eyes shut tight and
>voice lifted high, he was in a good place.
>
>
>"You've got a great voice," I told him when he was done.. "I've never heard
>anyone sing like that."
>
>"Mama said God gave me good pipes just like my grandma's," he said. "My
>grandma loves to sing, she sings in her church choir."
>
>"Well, I'll bet you can sing there, too. The two of you will be running
>that choir."
>
>
>The seat belt sign came on as we approached O'Hare. The flight attendant
>came by and said, "We just have a few minutes now." But she told Michael
>that it was important that he put his seat belt on. People started stirring
>in their seats, like the kids before the final school bell. By the time the
>seat belt sign went off, passengers were rushing down the aisle. Michael
>and I stayed seated.
>
>"Are you gonna go with me?" he asked.
>
>"I wouldn't miss it for the world, buddy!" I assured him.
>
>
>
>Clutching his bag and the manila envelope in one hand, he grabbed my hand
>with the other. The two of us followed the flight attendant down the
>jetway. All the noises of the airport seemed to fill the corridor.
>
>Michael stopped, slipping his hand from mine, he dropped to his knees. His
>mouth quivered. His eyes brimmed with tears.
>
>"What's wrong Michael? I'll carry you if you want."
>
>
>He opened his mouth and moved his lips, but it was as if his words were
>stuck in his throat. When I knelt next to him, he grabbed my neck. I felt
>his warm, wet face as he whispered in my ear, "I want my mama!"
>
>I tried to stand, but Michael squeezed my neck even harder. Then I heard a
>rattle of footsteps on the corridor's metal floor.
>
>"Is that you, baby?"
>
>I couldn't see the woman behind me, but I heard the warmth in her voice.
>
>
>"Oh baby," she cried. "Come here. Grandma loves you so much. I need a hug,
>baby. Let go of that nice man." She knelt beside Michael and me.
>
>Michael's grandma stroked his arm. I smelled a hint of orange blossoms.
>
>"You've got folks waiting for you out there, Michael.. Do you know that
>you've got aunts, and uncles and cousins?"
>
>She patted his skinny shoulders and started humming. Then she lifted her
>head and sang. I wondered if the flight attendant told her what to sing, or
>maybe she just knew what was right. Her strong, clear voice filled the
>passageway, "Jesus loves me -- this I know..."
>
>Michael's gasps quieted. Still holding him, I rose, nodded "hello" to his
>grandma and watched her pick up the grocery bag. Right before we got to the
>doorway to the terminal, Michael loosened his grip around my neck and
>reached for his grandma.
>
>
>As soon as she walked across the threshold with him, cheers erupted. From
>the size of the crowed, I figured family, friends, pastors, elders,
>deacons, choir members and most of the neighbors had come to meet Michael.
>A tall man tugged on Michael's ear and pulled off the red sign around his
>neck. It no longer applied.
>
>As I made my way to the gate for my connecting flight, I barely noticed the
>weight of my overstuffed briefcase and laptop. I started to wonder who
>would be in the seat next to mine this time. .... And I smiled.
>
>~By Jerry Seiden~
.... 
)
