Almost exactly ten years ago today, I was in Norway speaking at a conference. On my way home, I flew via Frankfurt, Germany. The flight from there to Vancouver was on a Boeing 777, which is an awfully big plane—53 rows with 10 seats across.
My booked seat was on the aisle, about halfway back in row 20-something. As I was about to sit down, an elderly gentleman with an accent I didn’t recognize asked if it was possible to trade seats so he could sit with his wife. She was apparently a nervous, first-time flyer. He told me his seat was a bit further back. I saw his sad-faced wife, thought about what my dad would do if he were me, and then said I’d gladly switch—though I was fibbing a bit about the “gladly” part.
He gave me his boarding pass: seat 40-F. I thought, ooh, a window seat—not too bad. As I walked farther down the aisle to my row, it quickly hit me that seat “F” is a window seat only if there are six seats across. As it turned out, my new seat was in the “middle of the middle,” and, to add to the fun, it was facing the lavatory wall. My only hope was that the seats beside me wouldn’t fill up.
Full flight. They did.
As I quietly cursed myself for being a softy and a pushover, two ladies and a young girl joined me in the middle seats. A nice lady from Spain sat on my right, and a little girl and her mom sat to my left. They were from Iran.
The little girl was nine years old (sadly, I don’t remember her name). She was nervous about flying but excited to see the family she was going to visit in Canada. Though her English was broken and my Farsi was nonexistant we were able to communicate quite well. Over the course of the eight-hour flight, we talked about her family, her school, and the games she liked to play. She taught me a few basic words in her language (now forgotten), and she shared her Persian candies and biscuits with me. We also spent time colouring together. Later in the flight, she fell asleep on my shoulder.
When we landed, I got hugs from both her and her mom. I wish I still had the picture she coloured and gave to me.
What I expected to be an unbearable eight hours of feeling sorry for myself became a wonderful memory.
As hatred, greed, religion, and politics run amok in our world, I can’t help but think the little girl and her family may be in harm’s way today. I hope they are not.
Montney Boy 