Poster Child for "What's Wrong with America"

I sat next to the poster child for "What is Wrong with America" on the return flight from visiting my family. She was a very sweet 14 year-old girl, slightly overweight, and filled with questions. (I only mention her weight because she gave me a long list of activities she enjoys - including movies, video games, and bowling (thank goodness there is SOME activity in there).)
The girl leaned over and looked at my book. "Can you actually read on the plane?" she asked.
"Umm.. yes."
"I hate reading," she said. "I just can't. . . well, I can't focus on the page and stuff."
"Well," I replied. "Some books are worth the effort."
"I wish Southwest had TV's like all the other airlines."
I almost choked. "I don't."
"Yeah," she said. "And it's expensive." She looked out the window. "Look, we're so high - it's like we're in Heaven!"
I shifted uncomfortably and opened my book wider to hide the cover. I would happen to be reading "The Demon Awakens."
Ever perceptive, she stared at me. "Do you believe in God?" she asked bluntly.
"Ummm. . . no."
"That's cool," she said. "My mom doesn't either. Have you ever gone to the bathroom on an airplane? Does it smell?"
We just went from a conversation about God to a conversation about airline toilets??? "Umm. . . yeah," I replied. It's like an outhouse - or a 'Port-o'-Potty.'"
"Oh," she said. "I get sick on airplanes. And, I've been scared about flying since the terrorists."
(For those who have not been watching the news, a group of folks living in the UK decided it would be nice to blow up around 10 planes departing Britain for the US. Not cool. Luckily they were stopped - but a few members of the group were still "at large" - which led to heightened airport security and the nationwide outcry as expensive perfume, fine wine, toothpaste, and other water/gel substances were listed as contraband.)
"The only thing I don't understand," she continued, "is why Britain is trying to kill us."
THUNK. That was the sound of my head hitting the seat-tray in front of me.
"It's complicated," I said. "Britain doesn't want to kill us. It's like . . . if you and your mother moved to Africa, and then did something bad, should we blame Africa? It's not the country. . ."
"It's the people!" she said, with pride.
"Exactly," I said.
"I'm just glad they caught them all," she said.
"Umm, yeah." (Except they didn't. Anyone want to bet that mommy and daddy told her all the big bad people were in jail?) By now, I was desperately wishing the conversation would return to the airline toilet.
"Thanks for helping me out," she said.
"No problem."
"Say, when do the masks fall out of the ceiling?"
"Never, if we're lucky."

Never. If we're lucky.

Good luck, sweetie. You are growing up in a far scarier world than I did. And with less of an attention span to work with.