My daughter Angel was always a go for hanging out with adults and friends, going places, and doing stuff. As early as five years old, she would ride with me on the city bus when I drove for King County’s Metro Transit in Seattle, Washington. By herself, she’d sit in the “talk to the bus driver seat” where I could see her, but she was usually talking to another passenger. An old woman might sit next to her and hold the entire conversation with a smile. Obviously, I’m biased, but she was an adorable kid. A bicyclist might sit across from her, asking and answering questions about the bike he just loaded on the front. Every once in a while, someone would inform me — just in case, better safe than sorry — that there’s a very young girl riding the bus by herself.
With or without me, she would go camping with friends and family, and she’d happily fly hours on airplanes without complaint. She was always up for going places and doing things.
Shortly after Angel had turned eight, in 1997, she went with me and her Uncles Pete and Steve on a 17-hour road trip in which we drove to southern California and parked outside the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California. Our football team, the Michigan Wolverines, was playing the Washington State Cougars in what amounted to a national championship, so we found a place to park outside the stadium on a grassy area in the shade. We barbecued, smoked some pot, drank some beers, and threw a Nerf football around.
I had taken her to Disneyland the day before, but on this day we had a whole lot of nothing going on for an 8-year-old. She didn’t mind. She was hanging out, having a good ol’ time tailgating 1,136 miles away from home with her dad and two uncles next to a stadium full of people cheering on a game she could care less about.
It was all fun to her.
When Angel was five, we flew from Seattle to Albuquerque to visit my brother Pete. It was her first time flying, and unsurprisingly, she was a champ. She asked people questions, made friends, put smiles on the faces of flight attendants, and went to the bathroom by herself. Just hanging out. Scary take-offs and landings? Nothing to it.
Although I sometimes have a momentary episode of inner panic, I’m comfortable flying. I accept that statistics are on my side, and normally, I don’t worry.
Somewhere in the middle of this flight, however, the plane hit turbulence and started to shake and rattle. This was, and still is, the worst I’ve ever experienced. By a lot. The airline’s entire 175,000 pounds jumped and hopped, it dropped toward the earth and then quickly shot upward. It wavered left to right and right to left, like Zeus was pissed and we were in his way.
I visualized the plane dropping straight to the earth. I looked out the window expecting to see an engine fire or the Twilight Zone guy tearing off pieces of the wing.
But I had to keep myself composed for Angel’s sake. I was well aware that children take their cues from adults. If I show fear, she’ll be afraid. If I remain calm, then she will. I almost turned to her and said something like, “This is no big deal” or “Don’t worry,” but even that could be construed by a perceptive child as, “This is a big deal” or “Worry.” They ain’t dumb.
Technically speaking, the cabin’s pressure was exactly the same as before, but the collective fear could be heard, seen, and felt. Except for the occasional yelp escaping involuntarily from other passengers, it was immediately silent and still, as if we were all holding each others’ hands. I could see the shoulders of others stiffening and hunching, and I could feel the pressure grow and thicken all around us.
Then, before I could react, Angel unbuckled her seat belt, stood up on her “flotation device,” put her hands on the seat back in front of her, and aired it out:
“Weeeeeeeeeee! This is fun!” she exclaimed, like she was on a mini-roller coaster having the time of her life.
Of course, my first thought was to make the adult decision and quickly sit her down and re-buckle her — you know, for her safety. I also thought I might be the irresponsible parent and let her continue to bring rapture to all 150 passengers, each one independently drowning in their own personal river of regret:
“I should have…!!”
“I shouldn’t have…!!”
“All the things I wanted to do…!!”
“Did I make Tracy the beneficiary! I’m taking care of all that shit as soon as I get home… If…”
Upon hearing her joy, the pressure in the cabin let go, and suddenly passengers could be heard laughing and letting the anxiety go with full-throated sighs of relief. People turned to smile at each other, and they loosened up their shoulders, while others craned their necks to see who had unleashed the bliss of innocence. In an act of spontaneous child delight, Angel had transformed the mood of fear from a lung-squeezing smothering, to the solace one might feel when their life has been saved. It was inescapable, involuntary, and innate. Everyone felt better.
Angel, just hanging out.
We all got through a couple more minutes of severe turbulence with a little more grace, and while I’m certain that many were still horrified by the prospect of a most powerless demise, we got over it in a few minutes and coasted the rest of the way without incident.
To this day, I’ll bet those passengers still talk about the little girl who, in the face of certain death, brought joy to a cabin full of pale adults.
“Weeee!! This is fun!!” Angel said, right about the time they were going to shit their pants.
Written May 6, 2022