Babies on Planes
I am ashamed to say that I used to be rather judgmental if I was seated near a child on an airplane. And if it screamed or kicked my seat, I would dutifully complain about it post-flight. Like I was conferring with those with a similar identity: Child-on-Plane Complainers.
“Flight was okay,” I’d say. “But I was next to a screaming baby.”
“Oh no!,” they’d say.
I don’t remember anyone ever challenging me that the parents were probably going through way more hell than I was. Not until I myself realized the mistake of my judgments.
I flew a lot in my youth, and the screaming toddler complaint remained a pretty reliable talking point. I’m pretty sure it was ingrained in the culture. Something everyone could find common cause to dread or to find dreadful.
There had to be a reason besides the phenomenon itself. So I did a search on ChaptGPT for films and TV shows with crying babies on airplanes, and I think it may have failed pretty solidly.
That “reliable” robot we’ve learned to “trust” in such a short time brought up some famous movies and TV shows: Meet the Parents, Liar Liar, Father of the Bride Part II, Friends, The Office, and Curb Your Enthusiasm, and, of course, Planes, Trains & Automobiles. I did some YouTubing, but I couldn’t find the scenes ChatGPT told me were in Meet the Parents, Liar Liar, or Father of the Bridge Part II. Since this anecdote doesn’t really matter that much to me, I’m not going to put the diligence into re-watching any of these, especially the many episodes of three major TV shows. So like a go-with-my-gut internet commenter, I’m going to say that this trope is probably out there, but I’m not entirely sure where. But, hey, AI says it is, so if the great averager of things says it, it’s got to be out there, right?
Regardless, I fell for it.
And though I realized my mistake long ago, karma waited me out. As soon as parenthood arrived, the parenting tropes come full force. One of those tropes was me being a parent of a baby on a plane.
We went on six flights this summer, the longest being 4.5 hours long. I experienced my son crocodile roll in my arms, trying to get away from being either in my lap or my wife’s; I tried to deplete some of his energy by taking him for a walk down the aisle of the plane, and though people smiled at him and cooed, and even thanked me for bringing him on the plane, he tried to grab things off trays and woke up two passengers; I changed him in the cramped bathroom of a Boeing 737 whilst in turbulence; he spit out water on one of our seat mates who was, thankfully, really nice about it; he screeched and screamed a ton; and he slept very little.
On every flight, he was the worst baby on the plane, and we told him so. It didn’t matter, we knew he wouldn’t understand. And when I say that, I mean he literally is not at the point yet of understanding 99.87% of human communication.
Flying wasn’t much fun before having a toddler, and now it was terrible and awful. Though I can very much sympathize with my son: it sucks sitting in cramped quarters in a tube for a long time.
Buy my son has changed my perspective on one thing that I have previously dreaded: trips to Costco.
The Things about Costco
I have a Midwestern confession to make: I don’t like shopping at Costco.
This has nothing to do with Costco itself. I am a member there for a reason. I want to support Costco as a business, and I very much love their goods and services. And I really must say this too: Costco employees rock. It’s a no brainer to shop there.
BUT, the thing is this: everyone else loves Costco far more than I do. Costco is always crowded with curious and interested shoppers. I am curious and interested, but I am more curious and interested in what happens after I finish shopping at Costco. I don’t know why, but for some reason, I can’t instill the normal patience I have whilst shopping Costco. That’s a character flaw for sure.
And then I took my son there.
Not many places have carts with functional child seatbelts. It’s got to be a tall order to maintain such things. To design something that will deal with the violence of preternaturally morally suspect children and the long sunlight exposure of being parked outside. As a rock climber, I am well aware that nylon is photosensitive, meaning UV light expedites nylon’s breakdown. Despite that, nylon is pretty resilient and something to be trusted in rock climbing. The nylon seatbelts in shopping carts seem sturdy enough, though many of them do not really fit my son, who is a pretty average toddler. This has left me to strap my poor son in interesting ways or not at all.
One time, I had to strap him in so that the strap went across his chest, making him lean back in the seat. If I were him, I would have voiced some outrage, but he thankfully took it like it was a normal thing to do. He looked silly though, like he was one of those stuffed animals zip-tied up on a pegboard, prizes for games of skill at county fairs.
A Costco shopping cart is not only sturdy and ready for your bulk items, but you can fit two children in a Costco shopping cart. Both sides have great seatbelts.
I always put my son in the left chair, the traditional captain’s chair, just to give him a little bit of false-control that real life is all about.
Even before I first walked through the store with my son in the captain’s chair of a cart, I was beginning to change my mind about Costco. But let’s back up a bit.
Look at That Father and His Toddler Son!
I already knew that when my son accompanies me on out-and-about experiences, everything is better. For one, he is interested in being out-and-about, and it’s fun to watch him interact with the world. (This sort out-and-aboutness is very finite on airplane, until he realizes what an airplane actually does. A karmic thing for sure.)
Secondly, if it is just me and my infant son, the world swoons. I feel like the handler of a celebrity: people turn their heads in our direction wherever we go. I’ve talked to more strangers since having my son than probably the five years before combined. So, like any writer, I wrote about the phenomenon. And, like most things I write about, I talked about it with people I knew.
After I posted it, I was talking with one of my very wise colleagues, and she knocked me over the head with a perspective I had not considered: “People treat you like that because you’re a man.”
I slowly put all of that into my mental models, not because I am stupid but because it was quite the statement and quite the error of me reading the room completely wrong. I could hear all the dumb man clichés coming at me in the ether: “Typical!” “Just like a man to….” “Why am I not surprised?”
I was a bit deflated when it all began to compute. Dang. A wonderful thing now a tainted experience. For a couple seconds.
Listen, dear reader: I know I have reaped many rewards in being a man. There is probably a long line of them that I am not even conscious of, but this is the only perk I consciously lean into and celebrate. That’s how much joy wheeling my son around Costco gives me.
Alone, I would never sing for three fourths of the time I shop. Nor would I monologue about various items out loud:
“America: We only do ramen if it’s ready in less than 5 minutes. And we only buy it in bulk.”
Picks up a large bag of Kirkland Signature Organic Ancient Grain Probiotic Granola. “Maybe we should come back and seriously consider that electric lawnmower. Yeah. Maybe we need to let the current one die. Seriously! It sucks! What’s your opinion? Never mind. You don’t even like the lawnmower toy you have.”
“When you were negative 4 years-old, there was a dude guarding the toilet paper. Like all that toilet paper wasn’t going to be enough for all of these shoppers. Can you believe that? You probably will never believe that. I hope I don’t use that as my old man story for your generation. Don’t worry, you won’t remember this conversation. This is all a draft.”
“This lady is really paying attention to that pack of marinara sauce. Oh crap, this dude is going in for the sample. Now the aisle is blocked! Focus, people. Let’s get some situational awareness. These aisles are way too wide to block! Ugh. Your dad needs to work on his patience. This is my gauntlet. Glad you’re here. High five.”
And then at the end, ready to checkout, there is this weird part that makes me feel like I’m breaking the parenting rules: It’s when I give up my son at the register. After waiting in line and then emptying my goods onto the conveyer belt, my son and the cart go behind the cashier. I stare at him across that gulf, thankful for the sturdy seatbelts. And, depending on the outgoingness of the employees, Thomas is treated to a bunch of smiles and infant talk.
And the people that check the receipts, they love my son. One time, one of the ladies drew a smiley face for him on the back of our receipt. He held that thing all the way to the truck, and though he probably didn’t understand any of it, I kept thinking about the things we do for other people because it makes us happy and touches others in ways that we will never know. I’m not sure I’ve had deeper thoughts whilst traversing a parking lot.
Unloading Costco groceries is always the last part of the journey. My son is still a long way in helping me with that. But keeping the truck on, opening the doors, and blasting music while he sits in his car seat and I unload the truck is a pretty classic movie way of handling such a chore.
On our last unload, we listened to Paul Simon’s “You can Call Me Al.” I used to think that was such a cornball song, but I have been really digging Paul Simon’s Graceland after recently realizing that Vampire Weekend was inspired by it. That awesome synthesizer and Paul’s laconic vocal stylings. Yes.
(Sidebar: How come no one talks about the bass in that song? It is as awesome and complex as the lead melody is simple and catchy. And that bass solo in the last third of the song, pretty sick stuff!)
The Perspective
We humans love chasing perspective, but I’d never thought my fuddy-duddy Costco experience would ever be challenged.
And this is how I feel right now, as a teacher, about AI. What will show me the way to accept it all so I worry less and lean into the future?
Right now, it’s like I am sitting on a plane, trying to tame a toddler who doesn’t understand flight, or even the concept of a plane, and trying to get him to chill out and accept the idea of sitting and just chilling until we land. Then we can do whatever we want, and he can continue to make my life way better.
But even that is too simplistic. The plane has got to be as “reliable” as the robot I consulted for this essay. And I hope I wouldn’t be on that plane, especially with my son.