Glenna Stearman Park, Flying with Little Boys

Joel and Glenna Park and Family

Editor’s Note:  If you have ever flown with grandchildren, no doubt you have encountered experiences that range from delight to “How on earth am I going to handle this?”  Glenna has had her share of times like these.

J.T. , Chris, and I were on a flight from San Diego to see grandparents in Kansas.  Both boys and I dressed up to fly.  Four year old Chris wanted to sit alone behind us.  He proceeded to entertain a pretty, young, well-dressed woman next to him by telling her that he lived in La Jolla and that he was going to visit his grandfather who “owned an airline.” The young woman sounded impressed so I did not correct Chris by saying, “airplane, not airline!”  They continued to chat and he seemingly had a very nice trip.

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JT, Chris, Danny and I were flying home from Kansas to San Diego with a change of planes in LA, late evening.  I had a terrible migraine headache and the boys jumped from chair to chair in the relatively empty passenger waiting area. Turns out we were the only passengers on an L10-11 (giant) aircraft.  I lay down and a stewardess took each boy and played with them while I slept.  San Diego was less than 30 minutes away, so a very short ride.  I was so glad to see Joel as he took charge of the boys.

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I was on a commercial flight with JT and Chris, who was just a baby, on my lap.  We were flying from New York, where we had visited in New Haven, CT, to Wichita with a plane change in Kansas City.  We were sitting next to a Stanford professor who fell asleep.  At the same time hyper-active Chris was jumping up and down in my lap.  I started throwing up in the barf bag, and Chris delighted in batting the bag around him.  The professor woke up, called for help, and took Chris who continued to reach out and hit my barf bag.  The stewardess passed Chris around the plane as people talked about how cute he was, but soon passed him on as a “lot to handle.” I was so sick that I was green.  JT hardly noticed anything as he sat by the window and loved looking at the land below.

Somehow we got home.      

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As a young child, I flew in my father’s experimental aircraft every time I was invited.  I was too small to see out the windows, so Dad would dip a wing, which allowed me to see the farms and fields below.  I loved that moment when I felt the smoothness of the wheels leaving the runway.  I loved the lazy looping around the countryside, but eventually threw-up in the barf bags on every flight. 

I never got used to it because I threw-up on car trips as well.  After many years I threw-up all over myself and my friends’ sail boat as we headed out of the bay and onto the ocean.  No barf bag.  The friend told his wife to “hose her down” and then he told me to hang on as he tipped the sail boat so it took on a big wave which “cleaned” me and the boat.  I was dry and feeling recovered within 15 minutes.