Fistful of Dollars
I AM SELLING pink lemonade on the airplane. The proceeds will be donated to breast cancer research. Passengers are buying lemonade at $1.00 a glass as fast as I can pour it. They practically throw money at the flight attendants, donations to fight breast cancer, a disease that has touched all our lives. Everyone is supporting our fundraising efforts.
An eight-year-old boy, traveling alone as an unaccompanied minor, pulls money out of his pocket. He also wants to donate. He hands me crumpled dollar bills, assorted pennies, nickels, quarters. He has $16. I hand him a glass of pink lemonade and say “Oh no, just one dollar. The lemonade only costs a dollar.”
He insists, presses the cash into my hand. I feel awkward taking the money of a little schoolboy. I smile at him, thank him, pluck a single dollar from the wad of crumpled bills and tell him that the rest is money for his trip, a holiday with his father.
He continues to insist that I take his donation. He wants to participate, won’t take no for an answer. I look into his eyes and see the intelligence shining through. He is a nice looking boy, confident and unafraid to travel alone. He has probably done it many, many times. Reluctantly, I take a five-dollar bill, give him a tiny pink ribbon, thank him for supporting the Breast Cancer Research Foundation.
After we arrive and everyone has deplaned, the gate agent walks him off the plane into the embrace of his waiting father. The gate agent comes back on the plane, wiping her eyes. Sniffling, she wants to tell me what happened.
A couple with a baby who were sitting in the row in front of the young boy waited in the gatehouse area until he got off the plane. They wanted to meet his father, to tell him about his son’s unselfish donation.
“He’s such a great kid,” they said to his dad. “We want our baby son to grow up to be just like him.
