Flying Solo

I turned fourteen about ten months ago. I'm still fourteen. I'll be fifteen in September. Being fourteen gave me the opportunity to attend Youth Conference this year, but that interfered with Interlochen. At first, I thought it wouldn't make a difference missing the last Intermediate session of Interlochen, because I'd gone and had a good time before. But, a couple of days before I left, I realized that I'd really miss being here at camp. So my parents and my teacher at Interlochen, provided a solution. I could leave Interlochen, go to the week of Youth Conference then come back to Interlochen. Some people would drive me home, and I'd fly back to Michigan. One problem: teenagers under fifteen aren't allowed to fly by themselves. They must have a person from the airport accompany them but it costs $100 extra. Now who wants to pay $100 for their kid to fly with some random person? And what kid wants to spend a flight with some random person. Not me, and not my parents.

Here's the thing. I don't look fourteen. When people first see me, they assume I'm 17, 18, college age. Here at Interlochen, people think I'm a counselor. So, my parents decided, I could fly alone. Because I'm not 16, I don't have a driver's license, but I do have a school id. Throughout the week, Daddy would stop whatever scary movie we'd be watching, and would ask randomly, "How old are you?" or "When's your birthday?" 15, September 15th, 1995. I was ready.

After I handed my school ID and my boarding pass to the man at State College Security, he looked at me and asked "How old are you?"

"Fifteen." I replied with a calm expression. He handed my stuff back to me and went on to the next person. I thought that was it. My first flight to Detroit was fine but I had a three hour layover for my flight from Detroit to Traverse City. My boarding pass said, Seat Request, which apparently means they'd give me my seat a couple of minutes before the flight. About an hour before boarding, two men called me up to the boarding desk and told me the flight was overbooked. They asked me if I would be willing to give up my seat. The next flight to Traverse City wasn't until tomorrow, and they offered me a hotel for the night, and a refund and all sorts of other stuff. When they had finished, I asked if I could call Mommy to discuss it all. They look at me funny, then one asked,

"Wait, how old are you?"

"I'm fifteen."

His eyes kind of widened, then both of them said,

"Never mind, don't worry, you're on the flight."

I guess it never occurred to them that I was underage. I didn't look particularly great that day. I had my Youth Conference T-Shirt on, denim shorts, my hair was pulled back, and I was wearing Converse. But I guess I looked pretty old. I went back to my seat, trying not to laugh from how ridiculous it all was.

Two days after I reached camp, I had my first quartet rehearsal, and my second orchestra rehearsal. As I walked into the quartet practice hut, one girl looked at me and said,

"Wow, I thought you were a counselor."

Later that day, as I told our orchestra manager my name and instrument, she said,

"Johannah, every time you come in, I think you're a counselor."

I don't know what it is, but everyone seems to think I'm a lot older than I am. I laugh about it a lot, and so does my family. I hope everyone else does too.