We touch down at Burlington Airport, and at this stage in my son’s life, “The Cat in the Hat” is his entire world. He has the book, the movie, and even the t-shirt. He rushes to the gift shop and insists I buy him a Cat in the Hat pop-up book for an eye-watering $47.95. I give in, convinced this purchase might help us navigate TSA security, board the plane, and reach Chicago without a meltdown, although deep down, I know it’s a futile effort.
As we board, I can feel the eyes of the other passengers on us, their expressions a mix of forced politeness and silent dread. I can almost hear their thoughts: “Oh no, a family; please don’t sit next to me.” I envision the flight attendant saying, “Feel free to store your… child in the overhead compartment or beneath the seat in front of you.”
We take our seats two rows behind the engine, an area notorious for turbulence. My son sits by the window, my wife occupies the middle seat, and I take the aisle. Then I spot a laid-back guy about my age—the Cool Guy. He’s dressed in a concert t-shirt and ripped jeans, earbuds in, lost in the punk rock anthems of the ’70s. He takes the aisle seat right across from me, and part of me wants to warn him, “Hey, Cool Guy, prepare yourself for a chaotic 1400 miles—you’re part of our family now!”
Once airborne, it becomes clear that airplanes are not designed for kids. There are no play areas, and an iPad can only hold his attention for so long. My wife and I take turns walking him up and down the aisle, trying to keep him entertained. But as we hit turbulence over Buffalo, we’re forced to return to our seats. The plane shakes violently, and my son’s ears start to hurt from the pressure changes, triggering a meltdown. In that moment, we can only hold him tight and ride out the storm. I glance at Cool Guy, who is pouring a rum and Coke, and I mentally shout, “I’m sorry if we’re ruining your flight, but if anyone needs a drink, it’s definitely me!”
Eventually, my son falls asleep from sheer exhaustion, and I sink into my seat, staring blankly at the Sky Mall magazine in front of me, wishing for our descent into Chicago. Suddenly, I feel something tap my shoulder. It’s Cool Guy, handing me two mini Bacardi Silvers and a Diet Coke. “You look like you could use this more than I do,” he says. I mix the rum with the Coke, and that blend of sweetness and bitterness instantly calms my nerves.
We start chatting. He shares that he grew up in Vermont and now lives in Los Angeles, working in “the business.” He remarks, “You’re brave to take a kid on a plane.” I tell him about my son and the challenges and victories we face. He doesn’t offer platitudes; he simply listens, allowing me to feel seen and human for a moment. He transforms what could have been the worst flight into one of the most memorable experiences of my life.
When we land in Chicago, I feel compelled to say something profound, like, “May the Universe treat you well,” but all I manage is, “If you’re ever back in Vermont…” He interrupts with a smile, “I’ll stay in a hotel.”
As we step into Chicago O’Hare International Airport, my son sprints to a bookstore, demanding yet another copy of the Cat in the Hat pop-up book I just bought him two hours ago in Vermont.
Thank you, Cool Guy. May the Universe be kind to you.
In summary, this experience reminds us that parenting can be chaotic, especially when traveling with a child with autism. The kindness of strangers can make a world of difference, transforming stressful moments into cherished memories. For more insights on pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource on fertility insurance.