The Stranger’s Sunglasses
An honest question
Little 5-year-old McKinsey was flying for the first time ever. Everything about the flying experience was new: the airport, uniformed airline people, the people in the airport, the jet bridge, and finally the aircraft and seating itself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted a window seat or not, but her mom thought she’d love the opportunity to look out at the other aircraft and the skies when they were airborne.
But McKinsey was much more interested in the people on board the plane than what was outside, so she switched seats with her older brother and took the aisle seat. With her feet dangling and her seat belt fastened, she just explored the cabin, looking intently at the man across the aisle. People were still boarding and looking for their seats, but before the flight attendants gave their pre-flight speech, she got the attention of the man she had been staring at. She tried to stretch her arm across to touch him, but couldn’t reach.
“Scuse me, sir. Scuse me?”
He looked over at her and smiled. His sunglasses were on his head but on the backside.
“Scuse me? Have you got eyes in the back of your head, Mister? The only thing you can see is the headrest thingy and the back of the airplane.”
“McKinsey!” her mom said as her eyes seemed to apologize to the man.
“No, it’s all right,” the stranger said. “Yes, I do, young lady. I’m a Dad. I see things my kids don’t think I’m able to see.”
“Oh,” McKinsey said. “Usually it’s my mom that can do that. ‘Cept she just wears hers on the top of her head. Just wondering.”