Fear of Flying

Fear of flying.  I have it.  I haven’t been in an airplane since 1994, when Quent and I flew to New York to visit my sister back when she still lived there, a husband and five kids ago.  I know it’s irrational, but I swear I’d drive across the Atlantic Ocean if someone could figure out how to build a bridge across it.

My fear has only gotten worse as I get older.  Fear of the inevitable being too imminent, perhaps?  Fear of leaving behind a family that needs me? — Lord, I can only imagine the mass confusion my household would plummet into without me here to manage and direct.  I can’t even be gone for a day without all hell breaking loose on the home front — empty pet dishes, unmade beds, sink full of dishes.  For example:  there was a time in the not too distant past when I was in Arkansas with Anthony at a basketball tournament, and Snacky called me in desperation from the grocery store back home.  “Mom,” he groaned, “I’m at the store with dad and he doesn’t know what to get.  He’s getting all the wrong stuff, and I can’t stop him!”  Needless to say, I had to go to the grocery store the day after I got home and get all the stuff we ACTUALLY needed.

When it comes right down to it, I think more than likely it’s the control freak in me (grown somewhat out of control due to the responsibilities of motherhood) that keeps me out of airplanes.  Being up in the air, trapped in a flying machine, relegated to my seat and unable to see who’s at the controls or what they’re doing?  Not a happy feeling for Mama.  I’d really need to be up in the cockpit dispensing useful advice and counsel to the pilots in order for air flight to work at all for me anymore.

Since that hasn’t yet AND  isn’t going to happen any time soon, my family has been hostage to my phobia when it comes to any sort of family travel.  Sorry guys.

Family vacations and trips to the many basketball tournaments (Snacky and Anthony) and dance competitions (Quent) we’ve gone to over the years have all been turned into that family Adventure/Odyssey/Trial By Fire known as the Road Trip.  In the early days, we bought a mini-van so that everyone could have his/her own clearly demarcated territory on the road.  Other road trip necessities have been Ipods, cell phones, and mobile DVD players.   Fights still occurred — over who got the captain’s seats or the back bench in the van; over which movie they’d watch on the DVD player; over where we’d eat lunch.  But we had some pretty rousing games of geography (you name a geographical location, and the next person has to name another, different location that begins with the last letter of the place you just named, with no repeats), ABC (you have to take turns finding each letter of the alphabet on a road sign, in order — and you can’t use the same road signs), and License Plates (you have to find a license plate from every state while you’re on the road).

Our longest road trips have been to Orlando (dance and basketball); Boston (several times to see my sister and her family); and Houston (basketball).  My Road Trip Philosophy is simple:  stop and smell the roses.  I’m not one of those people who believe it’s a fun idea to get up at some ungodly early hour and drive straight through to your destination, stopping only for bathroom breaks, and eating whatever you packed in a cooler.  The hubby has actually suggested that we do this (I’m sure so he can save money on hotels and eating out).  I’ve explained gently to him that this is not an option.  Ever.  A road trip should be considered part of the vacation.  The road trip is not simply a means to an end — it’s a process.  To be appreciated and enjoyed.  No matter how many fights we have to break up.  On a proper road trip, you drive during the day, then stop and go out to eat and sleep in a hotel.  Get a good night’s sleep, and get up and do the same each day until you’re at your destination.

And, to be fair to myself, our road trips have actually been less expensive than air flight for a family of five, even with the eating out and the hotel rooms.  You’d think that would be enough to make Sebastian a fan of the family road trip forever.  Just an added bonus on top of the family togetherness.  And the exploration of our great country.  However, the hubby has a twice surgically repaired knee that he CLAIMS bothers him after being in a vehicle all day, or for two or three days.  Whiner.

So Sebastian has a history of drawing a line in the sand after a road trip.

“From now on, I’m flying anywhere it takes more than 5 hours to get to by car.”

“Okay.  I’ll meet you there,” has been my rebuttal.

“Okay, then.”

“Yeah.”

He had never actually gone ahead and bought himself a plane ticket to whatever destination we were headed to, though.  Until last summer.  Once again, we were heading to Boston, to visit my sister and her family.  We hadn’t done the Boston trip in a few years, and everyone was pretty excited to get out there.

Needless to say, I was driving.

“I’m flying this time, Carolyn.”

“Okay.  Guess what?  I’m not.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

So, for the first time ever, our family was divided along travelling lines.  Anthony wanted to come with me.  Quent insisted that we were “wack” for wanting to drive, and decided to fly with her father (a decision she would come to regret, as you’ll see a little later in my saga).  Snacky at first was going to fly, but then decided to hit the road with his brother and me (plus Anthony begged him!).

As I tell this tale, you can be the judge about which people in the family made the right decision and experienced possibly the Greatest Road Trip Ever, and which people spent some really boring time in an airplane and missed out on some Awesome Good Times.