Leaving on a Jetplane
By Joe Barker
As I'm writing this, the horrors of air travel with small children are starting to fade from my memory. I dare say I'm even starting to look forward to our next trip to the UK. This is a very different state of mind to just after we’d landed, when I swore—as I do every year—that henceforth my feet and family were staying firmly fixed to the ground. In the tearful, zombie-like state that jetlag induces, it seemed perfectly reasonable to decide that my traveling days were done; that nevermore would I board a plane. The joys of home did not seem worth the 24 hours of door-to-door purgatory that the journey requires.
Time heals and now I can look back in a more emotionally balanced fashion and reflect on our airplane experience. Maybe it wasn’t even all bad; after all, I got to catch up on a lot of blockbuster movies that my children wouldn’t normally leave me time to watch.
In other positives, at no point on our trip was I, or either of the planes, copiously pooped on. Changing a baby in an airplane toilet remains an act of contortionist magic that would grace any Cirque du Soleil show, but I am proud to share that Alice was not dropped down the toilet nor on her head. She did pee all over me and the changing table, but at least it wasn't poop, and, not by chance, I had packed a spare T-shirt. Plus people were really nice and let me jump the queue for the loos when they saw me dangling a smelly, screaming child.
This little piggy
The highlight of the flight for me was undoubtedly the four meals I got to choose between. With two children who were mainly asleep and a wife with a palette too discerning for airplane food, all four meals were mine to enjoy. As a big believer in quantity over quality, this was an exciting time to be me. With plate-balancing skills worthy of any circus professional, I juggled and sampled my cornucopia of trays and dishes without waking the children. A pig in muck couldn't have been happier than me.
Standing room only
Sadly, one can't spend an entire 12-hour flight eating, and the time between meals inevitably dragged. While more important passengers—my children—were well provided with seats, I spent much of the outbound flight standing. Nice though it would have been to sit down, Marty had made his bed on my seat and I dared not risk waking him; a dilemma that any parent can well understand. At least I could still watch the TV while leaning on the back of my seat and envying Marty's luxuriant stretching across the two seats he'd commandeered. Plus, I'm always looking for an opportunity to portray myself as a heroic and self-sacrificing father, and what could seem nobler than giving up my seat for much of the flight? My wife even told me what a kind dad I was—no one must ever tell her that standing let me stretch my back and was much more comfortable than sitting.
In fact, I was to spend much of the inbound flight yearning for those happy standing hours. Having foolishly taken a screaming Alice off my wife, for what I thought was a moment, I found that both ladies promptly fell asleep. Five hours of agonizing mattress impersonating followed as I found myself nap-trapped between Alice and the incredibly uncomfortable airplane chair. I’d cautiously inch Alice down into my lap and breathe a sigh of relief at getting some of the weight off my arms, then the plane would rock or someone would sneeze and Alice would shoot upright and swarm into my arms. I’d gently rock her back to sleep and she’d soon settle down, but now the whole process of trying to find a slightly less torturous position had to begin all over again.
Meanwhile, my back was getting stiffer and stiffer. Sometimes I’d lean over to the left, sometimes to the right, stretch out this leg or that, but despite my best efforts it was becoming clearer that I am not compatible with airplane seats. Every so often, I’d find an almost comfortable position and start to really enjoy whichever movie I was watching, then a flailing limb would rip out my headphones and I’d have to spend ten minutes carefully freeing a hand, untangling Alice and the leads, and trying to rewind the movie, which on in-flight touch screens is its own special challenge. It was a merciful relief when the cabin crew turned up the lights and started serving another meal; with a cry of delight I passed Alice to my freshly awoken wife and enjoyed a blissful, unencumbered stretch.
Making friends
Much like Marty at her age, Alice does not believe in sitting down on planes—if one is not eating or asleep, one should be out and about meeting the many other fascinating passengers. As a one-year-old she has a pretty direct approach to greeting new acquaintances, especially as she is still a little unsteady on her legs. She finds grabbing any protruding body parts and using them as walking aids is a remarkably effective ice breaker—although perhaps not one I would recommend you try. Fortunately, her winning smile and clear joy at meeting all these new people soon smoothed over these slight social faux pas. Alice also showed a grand appreciation for the finer things in life, and of her own importance, by making repeated and determined efforts to break into business class. Thankfully her delighted giggles at ripping through the class curtain were well received and prevented any awkwardness that this socially revolutionary act could have caused.
Tele tragedy
The greatest joy in Marty's life is watching Tom and Jerry, something he does with unbridled enthusiasm. So, he was very excited when we promised him unlimited Tom and Jerry on the plane, possibly more excited than he was about going to visit Granny and Grandfather. You can imagine our shock and horror when we found the plane only had two episodes. This was certainly not an adequate supply of entertainment for a long-haul flight.
Now you, like all my friends, will probably shrug unsympathetically and say what kind of idiot doesn't take an iPad full of cartoons on a flight. To which I can only say: we know, that's what we did last year, and we didn't watch any of it because there were so many cartoons on the plane. How were we to know that in six months they were going to gut their Tom and Jerry provision and leave us with a very upset sleep- and cartoon-deprived boy? For the return flight we considered buying a tablet, but that seemed excessive for one flight. I'm still not sure that was the right decision, especially when it turned out to be the same two episodes of Tom and Jerry again.
Nonetheless, Marty wholeheartedly committed to enjoying those two episodes to the full. Sadly, the spatial constraints of an airplane meant that he could not express himself as he usually does by shrieking with laughter while jumping on the couch and running around the house. But I think the other passengers, to whom I should probably take this opportunity to apologize, would agree that he still showed his appreciation of this fine example of the animator’s art loudly and clearly. This was particularly obvious to the poor students sitting in front of us whose seats were repeatedly buffeted as he squirmed and bounced in hysterical delight. Fortunately, regular visits from the drinks trolley kept them in a tolerant and forgiving mood.
Perhaps, in hindsight, the flights weren't so bad; at least Marty and Alice slept for most of the journey. Maybe next year they'll even sleep in their own seats and give me a chance to get some rest. Although I would miss my 12-hour movie binge, I’d probably be a much less grumpy traveling companion with a bit of sleep.
About the Author
Joe and his wife Diane moved to Thailand in 2018. Since the arrival of their son Martin in 2021 and daughter Alice in 2024, Joe has been a stay-at-home father. The whole family enjoys BAMBI playgroups and Thai beach holidays. Find Joe on SubStack: BangkokDad bangkokdad.substack.com/