Call
Buttons, Garlic, and a Mom – thoughts on air travel
When I was little, flying was a true adventure. We
wore nice clothes, we didn’t weigh our luggage, and we could keep our shoes on
while we did not go through
security.
Once on board, supermodel flight attendants greeted us
like long lost relatives. They were so happy to have us in their care for the
next four hours and twenty-six minutes.
We were served gourmet food along with baskets of
snacks. The lavatories were spacious and comfortable (remember, I was little).
The best part, of course, was when our personal
supermodel/flight attendant gave my brother his golden pilot wings pin and gave
me my golden stewardess wings pin. Because boys were pilots and girls were
stewardess/supermodels. Ahhh…the grand old days of air travel.
My husband and I recently returned from vacation. We
were on several planes going to and from our destination. We wore casual clothes.
We weighed our luggage ahead of time and readjusted golf balls from one suitcase
to the other to get the weight of each under fifty pounds.
As we entered security, shoes, belts, computers, Kindles,
Fitbit, sweaters, and watches went into bins and we went into the big X-Ray
machine. Then we redressed, bought snacks, and hunted down our gate.
Once on the plane, our flight attendants were pleasant
but busy trying to get people seated and not jam oversized luggage into the
overhead bins. I wanted to give one of them my seat and make the coffee for
her. There were also plenty of “hims” in service. All were friendly.
As the plane made its way to the runway, a gentleman
got up from his seat, walked several rows back and opened the overhead bin. We
all heard a harried voice over the intercom, “Everyone must be in their seats
with their seat belts fastened while the plane is taxiing. Sir, please take your
seat.” The man continued to rummage through his suitcase which had been wedged
into a bin-too-small for a full-size case. Then came the process of jamming his
should-have-been-checked bag back into the bin. Finally, he took his seat. He didn’t
even look embarrassed.
Upon take-off, a call button rang out for all to hear.
Then again. Then again. The disembodied voice of the flight attendant came back
over the intercom. “Please don’t allow your child to continue ringing the call
button. When we hear a call button, we think ‘emergency.’” The ringing stopped.
Just then, I got a whiff of something. The person in
THE SEAT BEHIND ME had stealthily lifted the lid of a pizza box he had brought
on board. Sadly, it was a double onion-triple garlic kind of pie. He ate his aromatic
lunch with much licking of fingers and smacking of lips. He topped it all off
with a nice belch.
I tried to figure out how I was going to hold my
breath for the next four and half hours. There are some foods that make good, friendly
snacks on airplanes. Things such as, a yogurt, an apple, a plain cheese sandwich,
water. But for the person in THE SEAT BEHIND ME, sharing garlic breath and
belches was his clueless way of spreading the love.
The small child who had pushed the call button earlier,
decided to take up this exciting little game once again. A harried, but
smiling, flight attendant explained for a second time that the call button
meant “emergency,” not, “fun toddler toy.”
Back on the ground awaiting our next flight, we sat in
the airport and people-watched while we ate benign smelling foods. We saw a
young couple. The dad had a three-year-old daughter in a stroller and the mom
had twin girls (sixteen months old) strapped to her body, one on the front and
one on the back. So much glorious pink! The twins were identical and each
seemed quite content to be glued to mommy.
Both mom and dad were dressed casually. Dad was in
jeans. Mom had on yoga pants and short-sleeved
T-shirt. She had those strong, toned arms that young moms have from all the
heavy lifting they do all day and all night. Especially, those with a bulk
delivery in tow.
As it happened, after we boarded our plane and fastened
our seat belts, the adorable family of five came down the aisle. Dad and one of
the twins, Pink #1, sat in THE ROW ACROSS FROM US. Mom, three-year-old Cherub
and Pink #2 sat in front of dad and Pink #1.
Mom immediately readied sippy cups and snacks. She
pulled books out of her Mary Poppins’ carry-on bag and handed supplies back to
dad. He began reading to Pink #1. Mom began reading to Cherub and Pink #2. Happy
slurping and crunching commenced. It was beautiful to behold.
A little elderly woman boarded the plane and sat in
THE SEAT IN FRONT OF ME. Thankfully, she didn’t have a pizza box.
The plane took off. We were winging our way home –
last flight.
Then, “Whahhh!”
Pink #1 noticed the rest of the family in THE SEAT IN
FRONT OF HER. She wriggled her little body up and over the seat, using mommy’s
hair for a handy rope ladder.
Mom took Pink #1 and gave daddy the Cherub.
This kind of “musical airplane seats” went on for a
good long time.
Then, the fun ended. Although the twins were
physically identical, temperamentally, they were not.
Pink #2 had had enough. With bottom lip out and eyes
brimming, a torrent of tiredness was unleashed. She began with a steady but
controlled cry. She seemed to be waiting for whatever mom would produce next to
please her. But nothing worked.
Cherub and daddy were reading books and even Pink #1
was sitting in her own seat turning pages and giggling.
Pink #2 was on the runway ready for takeoff.
And she did.
For just over thirty minutes this tired little girl
cried her heart out.
And it was beautiful. Not the crying, but watching her
mother hold, kiss, caress, and whisper to her baby. Nothing soothed the little
one. She screamed and arched her back and kicked. Mom never stopped her gentle
ministrations of love.
Mom looked tired.
But she didn’t look weary.
Finally, she stood in the aisle and began to sway with
her baby. She never broke eye contact with her little one. She didn’t look
around to see who might be staring at her. She didn’t make excuses.
She didn’t make her baby a punchline.
“Look
at poor me trapped on a plane with this crying baby!”
She finally sat back down as we began our descent. She
fastened her seat belt while holding her exhausted baby. That’s when Pink #1 decided
she was tired too. She wanted mommy to hold her. The final minutes of our
flight were filled with a wild duet in every major and minor key.
When the plane bumped down on the runway, the twins
quieted.
That’s when the elderly woman in THE SEAT IN FRONT OF
ME said sweetly, “Well, now! That was just like the finale to the Fourth of
July fireworks!”
It was perfect. The elderly woman knew just what to
say. Maybe she had her own set of twins. Maybe she was in awe of such difficult
and lovely mothering.
I wanted to rise and give a standing ovation to the
whole show. But I was in my seat with my seatbelt fastened. We weren’t parked
safely at the gate. I tend to follow rules.
Pink #1 and Pink #2 were put back in their harnesses,
one on the front of mom, and one on the back. Their eyes were red and their cheeks
were flushed. Poor darlings.
If anyone deserved a pair of golden wings, it was little
Cherub who was a sweet, helpful, big sister. But golden wings aren’t given out
anymore. What a shame.
Golden wings wouldn’t be enough for Mom. Maybe a
golden crown. No…that would be ridiculous. Just something else for her babies
to grab.
Maybe a good night of sleep. One of those heavy, deep,
dreamless nights.
Then she could wake up, pack fresh belongings for her
family, and continue on her travels. She has years of journeying to go. Many
bags to pack and unpack. So much love and care to give. I hope she never has to
press the call button. I hope she only experiences the mildest of turbulence. Her
children are in good hands.
God bless her.
