THANK YOU, RHONDA! I have been woefully uninspired to write anything of late. So when she offered a contest about travel stories that maybe...just maybe...could win me a trip to Connecticut this Fall, I was all over that one! It caused me to reflect on some of my travel adventures and brought this little doozy to mind:
When Nathan was a toddler, he and I took a plane ride to visit my family. Anyone who has traveled with kids knows how much crap one needs to tote in order to survive the ordeal; And when airplane travel is the mode of transport, one needs to be EXTRA prepared in order to keep the kid from driving the other passengers mad. So, as I preboarded with Nathan for the short Southwest flight, I took advantage of the extra space that bulkhead seating would provide the two of us, and got ourselves situated for the one hour flight.
We were right up front on the plane, and the seats in our little enclave were passed by most of the passengers trying to avoid having to sit by the only active, squirmy little kid on the flight. Finally, as the last vestiges of the boarding passengers made their way onto the plane, looked around furtively for ANY spot besides the one facing us in the bulkhead area, one poor unfortunate soul sat down ruefully in the seat directly across from me and my talkative little carry-on.
This man did NOT look well. He clutched his briefcase as though his life depended on it. His brow was furrowed and dewy with nervous sweat. He often rocked back and forth in an obvious effort to self-sooth. All the while, Nathan proceeded to examine his surroundings, peppering me with questions like, "What does this thing do?" "Why do all those ladies have the same outfits on?" "How does a plane work?" "When are we going to eat?" "Why do we have to wear seat belts?"
...And as the engines revved up, the questions became more pointed: "What keeps the plane in the air?" "Do planes ever CRASH!!!" (...this last question was embellished by sound effects.) At this point, my nervous neighbor's rocking reached a high point, and the man started muttering to himself,
"Crash?! Do planes ever crash?" And with each of Nathan's questions along these lines, the agitation in my obviously phobic neighbor kept building, knuckles growing increasingly whiter as the briefcase looked like he would tear right through the leather, and Nathan's questions repeated tersely under his breath. "If the plane crashes, do we DIE?"
"Do we die?" "What happens if the plane falls in the ocean?"
"What HAPPENS?"So I am in this very awkward position, trying to placate my child and answer his questions to a satisfactory level that will cause them to cease, AND trying to ease this man's anxiety so that he doesn't completely LOSE IT on the airplane. So my voice became this man's lifeline as I soothingly explained to Nathan, "Airplanes are very safe."
...Which the man muttered under his breath while maintaining his steady rocking motion,
"Very safe...Very safe." I continue: "We are not going to crash."
*More rocking* "NOT going to crash. NOT going to crash.*"We don't have to worry."
"Don't worry. Don't worry."As this routine kept on during those anxious moments of take off, I could see the man's fingers loosen up on the briefcase a bit. The rocking became a little less vehement. The brow softened a bit.
Before long, Nathan had become bored with the topic. "Mommy? Where do peanuts come from?" My neighbor had no reply. He just popped a couple of pills and ordered a drink.
