To the Fellow Dad on the Plane Who Noticed My Son’s Autism

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We touched down at Burlington Airport, and at this stage in my son’s life, “The Cat in the Hat” is his whole universe. He has the book, the movie, and even the t-shirt. So, when he races into the gift shop and demands I buy him a Cat in the Hat pop-up book for $47.95, I cave in. I think this could be our golden ticket to navigate TSA, board the plane, and make it to Chicago without a major meltdown. Deep down, I realize it might be a futile purchase.

As we board, I can almost feel the collective eye-roll from the other passengers. I know they’re thinking, “Great, a family—please don’t sit next to me.” I can practically hear the flight attendant suggesting, “Feel free to stow your… child in the overhead compartment or under the seat in front of you.”

We settle into our seats, positioned just two rows behind the engine. If turbulence strikes, it’s going to be rough. My son takes the window seat, my wife sits in the middle, and I take the aisle. Then, a “cool guy” boards—around my age, decked out in a concert t-shirt and ripped jeans, he’s grooving to punk rock on his iPhone. He sits directly across from me, and I want to shout, “Hey, Cool Guy! Buckle up—you’re part of my family for the next 1400 miles, and trust me, it’s about to get bumpy!”

The flight takes off, and let’s be honest—planes aren’t child-friendly. There are no ball pits or playgrounds, and even an iPad can only entertain for so long. To keep my son engaged, my wife and I take turns walking him up and down the aisle. Then we hit turbulence over Buffalo, and suddenly we’re all back in our seats. The plane shakes, and my son’s ears start hurting from the sudden cabin pressure drop. A meltdown ensues. This is a child who struggles with crowds and overwhelming stimuli. All we can do is hold him tight and ride out the storm. I glance over at Cool Guy, who’s trying to pour a rum and Coke. I want to say, “Sorry for ruining your in-flight bar experience, but if anyone here needs a drink, it’s me!”

Eventually, my son drifts off to sleep, and a wave of exhaustion washes over my family. I sit there, listening to the engine’s hum, staring blankly at the Sky Mall magazine wedged in the seat pocket, praying for our descent into Chicago.

Then, out of nowhere, I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s Cool Guy. He hands me two mini Bacardi Silvers and a Diet Coke, saying, “You need this more than I do.” I mix the rum with the Coke, and that sweet, soothing concoction becomes the highlight of my flight.

We start chatting. He shares that he grew up in Vermont but now lives in Los Angeles and works in “the business.” “You’re brave for taking a kid on a plane,” he says. “I have three kids, and I won’t even drive them from Long Beach to Malibu.”

“Does your son have autism?” he asks. “Yeah,” I respond, sharing some of our challenges and victories. He doesn’t offer me platitudes like “That must be tough” or “You’re an amazing dad.” Instead, he listens, granting me a moment of humanity amid the chaos. He transforms what could have been the worst flight of my life into a memorable one.

As we land in Chicago, I always want to say something profound to people I’ll never see again, like “May the Universe treat you well.” But instead, I end up with, “Hey, if you’re ever in Vermont…” He interrupts, grinning, “I’ll stay in a hotel.”

Once we’re in Chicago O’Hare, my son dashes to a bookstore and demands I buy him a second copy of that same Cat in the Hat pop-up book I just bought him two hours ago in Vermont.

Thank you, Cool Guy. May the Universe treat you well.

In summary, sometimes the most unexpected connections during turbulent moments can remind us of our shared humanity, especially when navigating the challenges of parenting. If you’re looking for more information on home insemination, check out this excellent resource.