… The Other is Wings

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My children are comfortable on planes. They’ve flown—literally and figuratively—from infants to pre-schoolers to teenagers to young adults. Through it all, I made sure they could find their way independently around the world.

As soon as they could carry a backpack (about eighteen-months old, if I remember correctly) they packed their own bags. Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle came everywhere for a while. She even got her own napkin tied around her neck by one kind flight attendant. Paddington Bear, with his wellies and hat, was another Gemmell family frequent-flyer. Later, the stuffed pets remained behind as more entertainment became necessary. My kids learned what was acceptable to play on a plane: no noisy electronic games, no Snap—a card game that requires you to slap your hand down on cards before others do—guaranteed to irritate the person whose seat was attached to the tray table. And no small pieces that required, at the first sign of turbulence, someone to scramble under rows of seats and countless feet in order to retrieve them.

Learning to pack the correct snacks was also an important skill. A sweetie bag was carefully planned and rationed on long journeys. The kids knew how many pieces of hard candy it would take at a couple per hour to last them between New York or Chicago or Los Angeles and London. They learned chocolate wouldn’t survive the trip to warmer climes like Costa Rica or Bora Bora, but Werther’s Originals would.

They learned what to do in an emergency. When stranded for twenty-four hours watching Scooby-Doo in Flemish due to a missed connection, eating the Nobnob biscuits they’d bought as a gift for Dad was the appropriate thing to do. Luckily, they also knew to over-calculate how many books or magazines they’d need to last a trip.

The kids worked an airport like pros. Is there anything cuter than a little girl sitting on the floor at security ripping at the Velcro fastenings of her shoes so as not to hold up the passengers behind her? Or a little boy tipping a pencil sharpener from his pocket into its own tray to go through the X-ray machine? They knew what was allowed in carry on bags; though one time my youngest did manage to get a rather large pair of Fiskars scissors into Paris in her pencil box. They were caught and confiscated on the way back to Chicago. I got some nasty stares that day. But for the most part, the kids made sure I followed the rules.

These experiences have translated into an ease with new assignments and opportunities in my children’s current lives. I’ve set them up to take on the world. I’ve done well.

Or, so I thought. One of my happy travellers got married this weekend. It was a lovely day. But during the ceremony, it hit me: I’ve made a terrible mistake! Is it too late to instill a fear of flying? You see, I always hoped I was teaching them to fly towards me. Not away from me.

To our children we can give two things,
One is roots, the other is wings.

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