MORE PLANES

I was back in Brooklyn for three days when I found myself sitting on another plane, dressed for a funeral.

Children should be sedated before they are allowed to travel by air, don’t you think? Because anything could happen…The plane could be minutes away from descending into Chicago when the airport closes due to snow. The plane could, possibly, circle around the airport in hopes that it might open up, until threats of the untold harm that running out of gas would cause the passengers forces the pilot to divert to, say, Indianapolis. The plane could sit there, getting more gas, maybe, de-icing, just sort of hanging out, in a remote corner of the tarmac in the Indianapolis airport for another hour or so. All of this is possible. Do you hear me out there parents? Because the unsedated child may have trouble with this. Jimmy or Julie or Jasper or Jamal may have a bit of difficulty dealing with a two-hour flight morphing into a six-hour adventure without a little pharmaceutical help. He may start compulsively kicking the back of the seat in front of him. She may begin to scream—not cry, just scream, as she might if a giant lizard were chasing her. There might be accidents. You don’t want your child making such putrid smells as to cause the stewardi to run around, covering their noses, dousing the place with air freshener. Do you? DO YOU, PARENTS? BECAUSE I HAVE SEEN IT HAPPEN AND IT IS NOT PRETTY!!! BE A RESPONSIBLE PASSENGER, SEDATE YOUR CHILDREN!!!

Now I’m here in the North Chicago suburb of my youth. I rode out on the same highway I’ve ridden on a million times. Every exit has a story: here’s where I dropped off those drunk twins who had thrown up on each other; here’s where I went ice skating; here’s where that girl who went crazy and drove to Kentucky lived.

Snow sticks to the trees. People I’ve known all my life stop by to say hello. How could I have gotten this old?