Few
things still hold as much magic, wonder and adventure for children as
travelling by air. On a recent business trip to Calgary, a dad sat with his
little girl in the row behind me. She was maybe six or seven and chattering all
about being on the plane and what her destination might be like. But the best
moment of my whole trip – and I'd bet hers – was when the thrust of
takeoff nudged her back into her seat. The thrill of the ride was all packaged
up in her gasp as the wheels left the runway, and that first feeling of
floating though the sky washed over her.
That
was cool.
For my
youngest, his best flying moment was during a trip to Hawaii, flying a puddle
jump from Honolulu to the small island of Lana'i. The
turbo prop was constantly bounced around by air pockets and it experienced a
few sudden drops of several hundred feet. Chewing on beef jerky and smiling
while hooting as if he were on a roller coaster was my number three son, loving
the whole flight. I sat next to him, white-knuckled and longing for a cocktail
to sip while enjoying reruns of my life flashing before my eyes.
Our
family has been blessed with opportunities for several trips these last few
years, including that trip to Hawaii. At the filing of this column, my oldest
is touring New York City with his grand parents. He had the luxury of flying
first class and delighted in calling me from the tarmac to ask for reviews of
movies available on his personal viewer. Later he recalled his meal and service
from a personal attendant. How old is this kid?
I
never traveled with any of my grand parents, first class or otherwise –
well, except in a car. But I did go to Disneyland with an aunt and uncle
– and I'm pretty sure that was my first plane ride. I remember folding
the seatback tray table down and using it for a flight console, pretending to
control the plane as it streaked through its orbit around the planet. That is
until my then evil cousin Colleen broke the fantasy by pinching me – as
she did the whole trip.
Air
travel literally does take you to another world – maybe more so when I
was a kid. When my folks took the family to Acapulco, we boarded the plane from
Houston Intercontinental (now Bush Intercontinental). In the early 70s the jetway was ultra modern and sleek
for its time. It made me feel like I was boarding a rocket or starship through
a hermetically sealed environment. In stark contrast, our arrival in Acapulco
was very old school. Ground personnel rolled a stairway to the plane and we
disembarked right on the tarmac, amidst the sounds, smells and scurry from a
stream of jet airliners flying in and out of the airport.
But no
matter which airport you fly into, the best one in the world is the one you
come home to. There's relief when the wheels touch down and, a little
excitement too. Who'll be waiting
and what part of the trip will they hear about first? We'll be at the airport tomorrow. Then we'll get to hear
about a young boy's adventures in the Big Apple, because getting there and back
was only half the fun.
Copyright 2009 by David Falloure
