My First Plane Ride

by John Wagner

Getting to the Airport

Today I took my first plane ride, all the way across the country to see my grandparents. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

First, I want to explain how a kid my age — 18 months old, I’m told — can write like this. Well, to tell the truth, I didn’t really write this. My grandpa did. You see, he’s my ghostwriter. That’s what he calls himself, though he’s still alive, at least I think he is, though he does look pretty old.

Anyway, I babbled on about my trip when we got to his house, and he seemed to understand me. Then he wrote it down. He read it all back to me as Mom was feeding me, and she seemed to like it, smiled a lot, and I smiled, too. And so, we had a deal.

Yeah, so now I want to tell you about my trip. The Uber guy, who I thought only brought food to the house, brought us to the airport. I thought maybe he’d have some food to munch on, you know snacks like chips or cookies, but no such luck. All he did was drop us at the airport, Terminal 1, which I thought was kind of a foreboding name, especially when you’re getting on a plane for the first time.

When we got inside the building, Dad tried to check in at a computer machine. For some reason it didn’t work, so a lady in a blue uniform came over to help. Then she took our luggage. When we gave her my stroller and my car seat, both combined in one contraption, she looked at it like it was a flight risk. But then she said, “The little guy likes to motor, I see,” looking at me as if I were Max Verstappen.

I have to admit my stroller/car seat combo does look a little bit like Max’s Valkyrie. My dad is into Formula One — no, no, that’s not my milk concoction, it’s car racing. I have a picture of the Valkyrie in my bedroom to prove it.

Next, we went up the stairs to the gates. Gates to Heaven, I figured, since we’re going up in the air. No, we didn’t have to climb those stairs, we rode up on them. That’s right, they moved. Now we’ve got lots of stairs at home. Four Flight Folly my mom calls them. “A pain in the... knees,” says Dad after Mom gives him that Look. You know that Look, I think all moms have one.

Now I like to climb our stairs at home. The only trouble is I can’t get back down. But these stairs at the airport do the climbing for you, both up and down. I wonder if we could get something like this at our house. If I could talk, I sure would recommend it.

Next, we had to wait in a long line where Mom and Dad had to show their tickets and their ID’s. Not me though. They let me go right through. “You’re special,” said Dad. “Oh yes, you are,” said Mom, as she pinched my cheek, which she likes to do whenever she’s happy. I guess she was happy we were getting on a plane to see her mom and dad, whom we haven’t seen since I was born. Not so sure, however, how happy Dad was, since this trip was Mom’s idea.

Then Mom and Dad had to take their shoes and jackets off, and then the shoes and jackets went through this little tunnel on a moving belt. Oh yeah, there were belts too, on the belt, along with computers and people’s little bags. I was surprised they didn’t make the men take their pants off. I mean why else lose the belts?

Inside the terminal it was like a shopping mall, with all sorts of shops and restaurants, some of my favorites, too. But we went to the newsstand where Dad bought a couple of newspapers and Mom bought a book. I guess a plane is like a library where everybody is supposed to read. Mom showed me the book she brought for me, so I guess I’ll be reading too. This book was about airplanes, called “Where Do Jets Sleep at Night?” Must be a pretty big bed, I figured, from the look of those planes outside the window.

I was hungry, and Jimmy’s Pizza caught my eye. But it was Starbucks we went to, for more coffee. That’s three cups each for Mom and Dad, home and here. I pointed to the donuts on the shelf, and so they bought those, too, for themselves.

Me, I just got some of the crumbs, and the fruit, of course, in the jar Mom brought in my little travel kit. I know, I know, fruit is healthy. But how bad can my health be? I’m a year and a half old. Not an old man, although some wise guy — my uncle, I think — said I looked like an old man in my last picture.

Speaking of old men, I saw several of them riding in carts through the terminal, with a driver, no less. Maybe it pays to get old; you get chauffeured everywhere.

Okay, so now I want to tell you about the plane ride. Now that was an adventure!

The Plane Ride

So, I see we’re getting on the plane first, before the other passengers. We must be special. Or maybe we paid a little extra for the privilege. No, I take that back. Mom and Dad don’t like to spend a lot of money. Not on planes, at least. Later. I find out it’s because of me; families with children go first. I figured it’s a good thing Mom and Dad had me, I get them on the plane first.

When we get inside the plane, we pick our own seats. Dad wants to be up front, something about our connection. Mom wants the back, near the bathroom. In case, she’s pointing at me, and whispering the rest. I can’t read lips, and I wish I could, since they whisper a lot when talking about me.

As it turns out, I don’t have a seat. When the plane fills up, every seat is taken, and I’m stuck on Mom and Dad’s lap. Which gets uncomfortable; this is a long trip. “Seven hours total,” Dad says, “with the connection.”

Now the flight attendant comes down the aisle. She seems very nice. She smiles at me and reminds Dad to put his seat belt on. Which is our seat belt. At least in the car, I get my own seat and my own seat belt. But not here. And now the plane is moving. We are backing up, kind of like we do with the car to get out of the garage. Then we turn around and start to move forward. Faster than our car. Much faster. The trees outside the window are flying by. Or maybe we’re the ones doing the flying.

And then suddenly we’re in the air. No trees, just clouds, as higher and higher we go. Mom is looking out the window. Don’t know what she’s looking at. From where I sit, there’s nothing out there.

A little later, the flight attendant is back, bringing food. Snacks in tiny bags. I’ve never seen bags that tiny. Mom and Dad open up theirs and start chomping away. Where’s mine? Mom picks my duffel bag up off the floor and takes out a snack for me. “Here’s yours, buddy,” she says. Same old, same old snack. More fruit. Nothing new for me, like they got. She begins to feed me with a spoon. I can’t even use my fingers, like they did with their snacks.

To tell you the truth, there’s not much to do on a plane. I can’t even get out of my seat. Or, excuse me, my lap. Which is now Mom’s lap. And now I’m getting tired. We were all up so early, and between the ride to the airport, waiting around in the terminal, getting on the plane and finding our seats, it’s been a long haul. And boy, did some people take a long time getting into their seats. And finding a place to put their bags.

I usually get tired after I eat, and after all that airport stuff, I’m beat. Yes, I’m ready for bed. But there is no bed. So where do they put me? They put me on the floor. Spread my blanket out, and put me on top of it. Yeah, that’s right, the blanket’s not on top, where it belongs, but under me. What’s that all about? “Go to sleep little guy,” says Dad as he puts his foot on my back. I guess I have no choice. I feel like a bum, sleeping like this on the floor.

Then I look over across the aisle. What’s that, a cage? Between that guy’s feet, a cage? With something in it? Is it another boy? A little boy like me? At least my dad didn’t put me in a cage. Now I don’t feel so bad. But I sure feel sorry for that little boy. But then I hear a yip, and then a yap. That’s not a boy, that’s a dog, a little doggie. He’s what’s in the cage. So now I don’t feel so bad. A cage isn’t such a bad place, for a dog at least. And, no, I wouldn’t want him coming across the aisle and licking my face when I’m sleeping.

No, we don’t have any dogs at home. Only a cat, and she minds her own business. Doesn’t bother me. And I don’t bother her. Oh, well, maybe sometimes when I get bored with my toys. But she just runs away or jumps up on the couch. She jumps real good. And she crawls around real quiet, sneaks up on you all the time. I don’t think she’d like a cage; she’s pretty independent.

I wake up because my bed is moving. The plane is jumping up and down. Like our cat does at home. Then there’s a ding-dong sound. I wonder what that means. The flight attendant is on the loudspeaker. “Fasten your seat belts,” she says, “There’s some turbulence.” Turbulence, that must be a fancy word for bumps.

But now it’s a man’s voice. He tells us he’s the pilot. I guess it must be serious, for him to stop flying the plane to talk to us. He starts to explain why we need the seat belts on, but I can’t really follow. I just let Dad pull me up onto his lap and fasten our seat belt. Good thing, too, because we’re jumping up and down a lot now, sort of like the bumper car Dad once took me on.

Mom looks worried. But she tries to reassure me that it’s OK. “It’ll be over soon,” she says. “Just a storm outside, like we have at home.” But our house doesn’t jump up and down like this. I’m glad we don’t live in a plane. Mom tries to distract me with some more food. She even gives me some of the snack she got in her little bag. It looks like Cheerios but without the little holes in it. She even gives me some of what’s in the other bag. “Gingerbread,” she says, “gingerbread cookie.” I hear “cookie,” and now I know it’s got to be serious.

Finally, the plane calms down. And the pilot comes back on. Something about a descent. “Almost there,” says Dad. “We’ll have plenty of time to make our connection.” Not sure what that means. If it means another plane ride, well, I’m not too wild about that. But I also think it means my first plane ride is almost over. I look over at the little doggie in the cage. He’s panting a lot, like he’s all excited. I guess he’s glad, too, the plane ride will soon be over. Dogs and kids must think a lot alike.

And now we’re getting off. I guess that was it, my first plane ride. I wish I could have told you more, but it seems like I slept through most of it. I didn’t even get to find out where my jet will sleep tonight. I sure hope it’s a nice place. After all, lugging all these people around — and through that nasty storm — has got to make him tired.

As we get off the plane, the flight attendant says goodbye. Dad says goodbye and thanks. I whisper goodbye to the plane. Maybe I’ll see him again sometime.