BY KELLY HAGEN
“Mother, where might I find father? I require his assistance in dressing myself.”
- GoofBall (or so I imagine)
Son, I am 30,000 feet in the air above my least-favorite state (I won’t tell you which one it is, but here’s a hint: It starts with “Arkansas.”) riding in my least-favorite mode of transportation (it’s an airplane, otherwise the “30,000 feet between my chair and the ground would be a big, big problem).
And I’m scared, son. To be frank.
I am watching the movie “Shazam!” though. That’s helping.
In the same way that Mommy left you alone with Dino Dad a month ago so she could develop some of those many professional skills she possesses, yo Da is traveling to a different state (one that isn’t Arkansas) to try to develop a professional skill to lean on for the next 30 years or so.
Hopefully.
Flying is not my favorite thing to do. Technically speaking, it’s not even me doing the flying. Some guy at the front of the tube is doing that task. Or, even more technical talk, it’s the airplane that’s flying and that guy is flipping a lot of switches and … is there a steering wheel involved? Pedals? I don’t really know.
Like I said, flying ain’t my thing. I do it enough as an adult, you’d think it would be by now. But it ain’t.
I took my first flight on an airplane in 1998, at the age of 19. To New York City, with a layover in Arkansas for some dumb reason that I probably made up, for a college journalism conference. I hadn’t wanted to go, but I was convinced otherwise.
I can remember going through “airport security” involving flash cards and a memory game, and also being served bagels with cream cheese on the flight. Also, I didn’t have to turn off my cellphone because I didn’t have one.
Nostalgia … makes me a bit queasy. Perhaps it’s the turbulence.
After I landed safe and sound back in Bismarck, North Dakota, I spent the next 10 years of my life with my feet planted firmly on the ground. Both because I was traumatized from 1998 (and a little from Y2K) and I was in my 20s and didn’t have money. I worked for a newspaper or two, and neither of those things could afford to fly me anywhere, even if they wanted to. And they didn’t.
Then, in 2007, I met your mom. And that’s How I Met Your Mother. Story over. I’m Bob Saget.
Your mom is a bit of a world traveler. She’s lived all over; she’s traveled everywhere. Including Australia, which is super way far away. It’s Friday there, right now, for context. Oh, also, it’s Thursday where you are, bud. Me, too, I think. But it’s hard to tell from this high.
Son, your mom made a traveler out of me. And then I got a job or three that involved attending national conferences two to three times a year for the last eight years of my life.
My knee really hurts. Why do I always get the window seat?
Since this is an advice column from a dad to his son and daughter who can actually read, so maybe it’s more for her, here are my tips for flying:
- Don’t recline your seat. There’s not enough room for that. If somebody does it to you, just yank on their left earlobe until they stop. Life hack!
- Put the cellphones and tablets in airplane mode, or bad things, probably. I don’t really know; I just follow instructions really well.
- If the person next to you wants to talk about cats, then fine. But if they don’t, avoid doing so. First step is to ask.
Oh, hey, we’re on the ground. I’ll mail this to Eudora as soon as I get a wi-fi signal. I love being alive.
Kelly Hagen is a dad and a writer, and sometimes he pretends people he doesn’t know ask him questions about parenting. Then he doesn’t really answer them, and we all go on with our lives. He lives in Bismarck, North Dakota, with his wife, Annette, and their two young children. If you have a question you’d like to Ask A Dad, send e-mail to kelly.hagen@gmail.com.
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