Air travel is not my best thing. It isn’t even down the hall from my best thing. I have shown up at the airport at the right time, but on the wrong day. I once missed a connecting flight during a five-hour layover by falling asleep at a gate in the wrong terminal. I am certain I am capable of showing up for an international flight without a passport. I have earned my trepidation.
I might have sworn off flying altogether if it hadn’t been for the Community Baby.
That trip was auspicious from the get-go. It wasn’t in the way-olden days, when you could show up and buy a ticket five minutes before departure, and they served steak, and you had room to tuck a golden retriever between your knees and the next seat up. But it did predate the pandemic, and you could still get a free packet of peanuts.
Why We Wrote This
What happens when a crying baby reigns over a long flight? The community pulls together. Our essayist offers a heartwarming reminder that trying circumstances can bring out the best in all of us.
As I wedged my way down the aisle, I noticed a small sign printed under the window that said, “Seats in this row do not recline.” I chose to see this as a directive to adjust my attitude and sat up in mandatory primness, imagining that all the other rows said, “Seats in this row do not recline all that much.” It helped.
The flight was fine, the pilots hit the ground with the restraint they get the big bucks for, and I was in a good state of mind for the return trip. I arrived at the correct gate in plenty of time to take my required three walks to the counter to make sure it was still the correct gate.
That’s when a man came up and said he had been talking to someone – he pointed toward an old woman visibly trembling behind a massive baby stroller – who had never flown before, let alone with an infant, and could use some help.
The counter people peeled out and began to speak to her with kind voices, one shouldering the baby and the other folding up the stroller and seeing it to the plane. The old woman was rigid and mute with terror. Neither English nor calm seemed to be her first language.
Babies make me a little uncomfortable. I didn’t care for dolls when I was little. And my husband, Dave, and I never had children; we reasoned there was too great a risk they’d turn out something like us.
But even people who love babies tense up a little when they see one in their departure gate. No one really wants to be sealed up in an airborne can with an infant. Eventually it was my turn to board, and the old woman and baby, of course, had been installed in the row behind me.
I spent the first half of the flight tracking the little plane on the little screen before I relaxed enough to trust we were going in the right direction. So we were at least that far along before the little guy piped up. He was loudly not happy. The old woman, still more or less frozen, was not able to comfort him.
Within a minute, the flight attendant, Kelly, scooped up the baby and bobbled him up and down, entertaining him with his shiny name tag for a good 10 minutes before he had to distribute sodas. The infant rediscovered his lungs a bit later.
Two rows up, a stunning young woman jumped up and offered to hold him, found him easily consoled, and neatly burritoed him in her faux-leopard wrap. He was adjusted to a full-view cooing position and handed around the plane. An old fellow in the next row demonstrated his foot-tickling expertise. The baby made the rounds of the cabin, his guileless grin mirrored in faces all the way back to the aft toilet.
Meanwhile, flight attendant Kelly dropped to one knee to check on Grandma, who revealed that she was, in fact, Great-Grandma.
“This is a really hard thing for anybody, taking a baby across the country, especially on your first flight. You’re doing a wonderful job!” Kelly beamed. “Was anyone planning to meet you at Portland?” Her daughter and granddaughter were, yes. “Do you know where they were planning to meet you?”
Worry bloomed on the old woman’s face. How many parts to an airport were there? Kelly extracted some phone numbers and went to call the family and make sure someone was coming, and find out where he might personally escort her. Baby was briefly returned, and peace reigned for whole minutes.
The next squall could have brought down the oxygen masks. The beautiful woman reappeared and asked for diapers and baby wipes along with the baby. She disappeared into the nethers of the plane with him, his wailing exhibiting the Doppler effect the whole way, and came back with the child pink and resplendent in leopard plush.
The old woman’s neighbors distracted her with chat and cheer during the landing. Someone retrieved her bag from the overhead bin, someone else carried it, someone held the aisle clear for Great-Grandma and escort Kelly, and there was a general blessing of hand pats and foot tickles all around.
That entire economy section had collaborated on a flight of joy, with a very small human spinning the propellers. I wouldn’t be surprised if, back in Row 20, a collection had been started for the baby’s college fund.
And someone who is not comfortable with babies and had nothing else to contribute decided to pen an essay.
