As summer unfolds, the chatter around family vacations intensifies, with many parents preparing to send their children off to theme parks, renowned campgrounds, or magical wonderlands with relatives, granting them a much-needed opportunity to reconnect as couples for a couple of weeks each year.
When my son, Max, was just six years old, we were living in Hawaii while my parents resided in Oregon. That summer, they excitedly announced their plan to take him to Disneyland in California. After much deliberation on how to get him there, my mother informed me that she had already checked with the airline, and they assured her that Max could fly as an “unaccompanied minor.”
He’s six, Mom. Just six. He’s tiny too.
I glanced at Max, his Hawaiian-style buzz cut and round glasses making him look like an adorable little wizard, while she described the process of sending him off on a 747 alone to Portland.
“It’ll be perfectly fine,” she reassured me. “They assign a flight attendant to him, and he’s never left unattended. She’ll look after him the entire way. Plus, it’s a direct flight. We’ll be there to pick him up in Portland.”
After several more minutes of discussion and with Max bouncing around the room, gleefully shouting, “I’m going to Disneyland! I’m going to Disneyland!” I set aside my panic and reluctantly agreed to let my little one fly with a complete stranger, hoping that the flight attendant wouldn’t accidentally send him to a far-off destination like Botswana, igniting a massive search operation and a future TV movie titled “I Trusted a Stranger with My Child, and They Lost Him.”
Max and I arrived at the airport, where I painstakingly filled out lengthy forms, attached copies of his birth certificate, my driver’s license, and a comprehensive list of emergency contacts from three states and two countries. While he was exhilarated about flying “all by myself,” I was a bundle of nerves. “Don’t worry,” the flight attendant smiled, “We haven’t lost one yet.” Yet? Panic surged through me. Moments later, I watched my only child board the plane, tears streaming down my face all the way home.
He had an amazing adventure.
Two weeks later, anxiously awaiting his return, I clutched the 30 pieces of identification required to retrieve a child from an airport. When I finally spotted Max’s beaming face, I briefly noticed he seemed older. More confident. He had transformed from a small child into a young boy. As I tried to wrap my mind around the changes in my son—could this trip have positively impacted him?—I couldn’t hold back my tears of relief that he was back home where I could see him.
Ignoring the airport staff’s commands to “Stay behind the yellow line, ma’am. BEHIND THE YELLOW LINE,” I rushed forward, knelt down, and enveloped my child in a tight hug, sobbing uncontrollably, assuring him he was missed every single day. (Yes, every six-year-old’s nightmare—being smothered by a crying mother in public. He’ll probably bring it up in therapy someday, but I couldn’t help it. My baby was home.)
Typically, retrieving an “unaccompanied minor” involves stringent ID checks. A simple driver’s license won’t suffice. The airlines are determined to avoid any mix-ups that could lead to costly legal ramifications. Thus, you’re provided with a list of necessary documents before any child is handed over to you.
As I rummaged through my purse for the required paperwork, the flight attendant smiled and remarked dryly, “And you must be the mother.”
“Yes,” I sniffed, still holding my son like he was a lifeline. “Jake,” she turned to him, ensuring his identity, “Is this your mom?” Max, showcasing his budding sense of humor, looked up and quipped, “Well, she wouldn’t be my first choice, but yeah, she’s my mom.”
Fast forward fourteen years, and Max was preparing to fly off to serve in Iraq, and we were about to relive this experience at a new level. After dropping him off, I cried all the way home. When he returned a year later, safe and sound, I cried again and hugged him tightly in public. This time, he grinned and said, “It’s okay, Mom. Go crazy.”
Through this journey, I’ve concluded that children (regardless of age) should never be farther away than a short drive. It’s just too emotionally taxing for their mothers. When he gets redeployed, I plan to accompany him—though I might keep that a secret for now. Who knows, I might just end up flying as an “unaccompanied mother.”
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Summary
The article recounts a personal experience of a parent sending their young child on a solo flight to visit relatives. It reflects on the emotional rollercoaster of letting go, the joy of reunion, and the growth observed in the child. The narrative emphasizes the challenges of parenting and the deep bond between mother and child while providing resources for those interested in fertility and home insemination.