On going 70

Once in a blue moon, I like to doze off and contemplate philosophically about things like life. Usually in these times of reflection, I try not to think about subject matters such as love like some people would do. Don't get me wrong. I sometimes think about love, but not during these really deep thoughts.

Here I am, sitting on a plane en route to destination home. It is not an extraordinary event, like for most people who perhaps fly no more than four times a year. Me? Just another ritual that I religiously take usually twice a week. And this routine has been going on for over five years now.

I gently woke from a temporary cat nap to the flight attendant's smooth, yet assertive, sexy voice. She announced that we are free to move about the cabin after passing a little bit of turbulence. Not even a minute has gone by, and I saw a cute little girl, no more than five years old, walk up the aisle and into the lavatory. By herself.

It occurred to me that wow, that little girl is brave! Typically a parent or guardian would be in tow, but not this time. I don't know what prompted it all, but thoughts came into my head. I started to remember things. Things I have never resurrected. About my first memorable instance where in all of my short, little life as a tiny, skinny boy, my mom told me to go alone when I wanted to use the restroom. Was she being lazy? But that first and foremost moment was daunting. I just stood there. But she kept on coaxing me. "Be a big boy. You can go by yourself." And she just sat there. And there was a mile-long five yards separating us. I shook my head, and moaned. "No!" I pouted. I jumped. Eventually she caved in. This boy would win one more time.

I don't know how many more days after that incident, but the situation presented itself once again. I got a little frustrated. If I knew any good vocabulary, I would have exclaimed, "Damn! Not again!" But this time, my mom didn't just sit there and watch me after telling me that I'm a big boy and that I can go by myself. She proceeded to ignore me! Then something happened. I turned and went to the restroom. By myself. It was akin to walking through a giant, dark forest, typically normal when you're with your daddy a million times. But that first time by myself was just overwhelming. And abnormal.

I must've blanked out or something, because the only thing I remember about that little piece of childhood was me returning from the restroom. And when I got closer and caught sight of my parents, my heart raced and I started running back to the table. Fast! My sister was sitting there, ditzily doing her thing, totally unaware of the "ordeal" I had just gone through. My parents must've been proud. For since then, I started getting comfortable with going alone. Unless, of course, it was in a very crowded environment in public.

Back to the seat. Looking out the window, staring blankly over the wing into clouds and horizon. Thoughts floating in my head. Is that why I became assertive, and sometimes stubborn, and an extrovert as a grown-up? I smiled, while music filled my head over the constant rumble from the jet engine. Those innocent days. I yearn to relive those moments. In a blink of an eye, close to three decades have came and passed. Wow. But I wondered what it must have felt like for my parents. I'm still a kid to them. My dad will be celebrating 70 years of experiencing life soon.

Sometimes, it is just good to sit and think about my childhood. As long as I stay away from the troubled and painful parts of it. =)