Adam turns 10 in a few weeks, and one of great mainstays of his life has been his friendship with his buddy, Jake, who he’s known since they were babies. Jake’s parents are British ex-pats who, like many ex-pats, are often more energetic about exploring their new country with their kids than native families like mine. Jake loves airplanes—Adam likes airplanes, but loves Jake. So, on Sunday, Adam and I accepted an invite from Jake and his dad, Jeremy, to decamp to the Costco parking lot near JFK and watch plane after plane from around the world enter their landing pattern.
For the record, my favorite airline was Aire Lingus, from Ireland, because of the shamrock on their tale.
I relished Jake’s sheer enthusiasm for discovery, and hoped some of it was rubbing off on my son. But as is often the case, my favorite Adam moment was less pure and a bit more of his wry view of life.
While Jake spent most of the time searching the skies for incoming planes, Adam made periodic respites to the car to eat and stay warm.
“Jeremy, excuse me, where did you put my lunch, I’m hungry,” Adam asked Jake’s dad.
“In the trunk,” Jeremy said, politely and matter-of-factly.
Adam found a target.
“In the trunk!?” he bellowed. “Don’t you mean the boot! Come on, can’t I get a little British around here???”
What can I say? Some boys reach for the skies. As my son approaches 10, he seems destined for a much more street-wise approach to life.
