I boarded my Southwest flight home from Portland last night, number 56 of the A boarding group. I grabbed the first window seat I could find and got settled in for the non-direct flight through Oakland that would eventually take me back to Orange County. Hey, you can’t complain about layovers when it’s a free flight.

One of the interesting things about air travel is you never know who you might wind up sitting next to. You always hope it will be some really cute, interesting, and funny person with whom you will instantly strike up a conversation. You will have great chemistry, fall in love, and have a great story of how you met. I myself have never had this experience despite having been on 20 flights in the past year. Oh well, we all have our dreams.

I’m getting off topic, back to this specific flight. I did not meet my future husband, but rather a man and his young son were my row-mates for this first leg of my journey south. The little blond haired boy looked to be about 4, but I can’t be sure as he got really shy every time I tried to talk to him.

As they took the center and aisle seat, the flight attendant, fun and friendly as Southwest employees are, commented on the cool police car he was holding onto. Without saying a word, he pulled down the sleeve of his jacket to reveal the police patch on the shoulder of his navy button-up shirt. This little boy was mini-cop. He had a full on police uniform shirt, complete with patches, badges, and the obligatory “POLICE” stenciled across his back. The get-up looked like it was a Halloween costume he’d refused to take off. Not only did he have the attire and the police car, his suitcase was also a giant police car. I took note of the fake badge stickers stuck all over it. Probably collected from police station open houses.

The flight attendant said something along the lines of, “I can bet I know what he is going to be when he grows up.” I smiled to myself and then went back to what I was doing. I sat on the hour flight writing in my journal about my own confusion of growing up, transitioning into the adult would, and trying to decide what it is that I really want to do. I began to question what is it about being a child that makes the question of “What do you want to be when you grow up?” seem like a question with such a simple answer. Everything about this little boy screamed, “The only thing I want to do in life is be a policeman!”

At what point does it get so much more complicated? Or is it really not all that complicated? I seek the sense of excitement that this little boy had in my own career. Maybe that is silly and idealistic, but is that really too much to ask for? Perhaps it is, especially right now, when we are thankful just to have a job. But in the long run of my life, I pray that my path leads to something exciting, fulfilling, and interesting.

As for the boy, I hope he becomes a cop. He’ll probably turn out to be a lawyer or something though.