Kid on a Plane

In 2014, I wrote a series of short stories titled “Kids On Planes.” As an experienced traveler with 28 years of flying under my belt, I felt I needed to share my experience of developing tolerance and empathy toward parents who accompany what many people describe as “crying, spoiled and unruly” little travelers. This is one of those stories.

***

The most poignant episode with a child on board happened to me long before I had my own son and I experienced the joys of traveling with a toddler. In January 1994, as a 24-year-old graduate student, I was flying from Bishkek to Moscow to catch a train to Budapest, where I was supposed to continue my studies in the master's program at the Central European University after the winter break. I learned a lot about children's behavior on a plane during that flight.

My row neighbors on the flight turned were a young mother named Lena, a beautiful young woman (I don’t know her exact age, but for some reason, I was sure she was a little younger than me) and her almost 4-year-old son Maxim, who did not speak at all. Not a word. At first, I thought that he was just shy, like many small children are shy of strangers, but then I realized that something was different about him. Usually, by the age of two, children begin to say some simple words and sentences, while Max, at almost four, only grunted and gestured. Later, Lena told me that Max had suffered an early psychological trauma, which resulted in his muteness. Everyone in the family hoped it was temporary. Not only Max did not speak; he could not produce any sounds with an open mouth at all. The boy ate and drank perfectly normally, opening his mouth just like any other child would for food and drink. But if Max was asked to say something or make any sound with an open mouth, something seemed to automatically lock in his throat, his cheeks tightened, and he could only helplessly grunt.

Max and I became friends right away. The flight was delayed for half an hour for some reason, so we had enough time to get to know each other. Despite being nonverbal, Max turned out to be a very sociable and friendly child. He immediately moved from his seat to sit in my lap, took out a book from his children's travel backpack, and gave it to me, asking me with his hands to read. I enthusiastically agreed, and as I read the book to him, he diligently followed along with his index finger on the words I pronounced. Suddenly, I realized that he knew all the letters and could already read independently, he just couldn't pronounce all the words himself.

Surprised by this discovery, I asked Lena: “Does he already read by himself?”

“Yes,” Lena replied proudly, “He has read all the children's books at home several times over, but he just can't tell the story himself. Instead, he draws his own pictures with letters and brings them to me as proof that he has read and understood everything exactly as he should have. He already knows numbers up to 50 and can solve simple problems, all in writing.”

As if to confirm her words, Max took out a sheet of paper from his backpack and started carefully writing: 2 + 2 = 4, 3 - 1 = 2. Completely amazed, I sat there admiring his abilities, while Max smiled at me with every new problem that I’d given him to solve.

The plane finally taxied onto the runway, and the engines started to rev up. Suddenly, Lena became noticeably anxious and said to me: “I have to warn you of Max’ very unusual behavior during takeoffs and landings because of the changes in air pressure. It would be better to put him in his seat.”

“Well, if we have to, we’ll do it,” I said, not wanting to let go of Max, who had completely charmed me. “Max, why don't you sit here, between me and your mom?”

Max clearly didn't want to get off my lap, but then a flight attendant approached us and said that the child had to sit in his own seat, with his seat belt fastened. “Son, did you hear what the plane lady just said? Please come sit in your seat, or else the 'MMMMMM' will start,” Lena said to Max.

After the stretched “MMMMMM” Max immediately sulked, reluctantly sat in his seat and allowed himself to be fastened with a seat belt. As soon as the plane took off and began to gain altitude, Max suddenly started to hum “MMMMMM,” covered his ears with both hands, and began rocking back and forth, forcefully hitting his head against the back of the seat. Just when I thought that it must be very painful for him, Lena took a pillow out of her bag and placed it under his head.

In response to my worried and questioning look, Lena said, “This is the unusual behavior I was talking about. He has very sensitive eardrums, and during pressure changes, Max feels awful. He deliberately hits his head against the seat, as if trying to shake off this unpleasant pain. His doctor explained this to me. We regularly see an ENT doctor because of Max's speech delay. It's difficult to get used to, but at least I understand what's happening to him.”

“Maybe we could give him something to chew or suck on? Swallowing helps to reduce pressure on the eardrums,” I suggested timidly.

“No use,” Lena replied, stroking her son's head and trying to reduce the amplitude of his increasingly sweeping movements. “He won't open his mouth until the plane reaches the necessary altitude and the pressure stabilizes. You can't pry his mouth open with force, so he'll keep humming and rocking until it’s over, my poor little baby.”

Suddenly, I felt a lump rise in my throat. Turning away to wipe away my tears, I was surprised at how helpless an adult woman can feel from realizing that she can't help a little boy alleviate his suffering. Swallowing the lump, I turned back to Max and for some reason began stroking his knees. Max, in the meantime, had completely disconnected from the outside world, continuing to hum and rock with his eyes and ears closed as if he were in some kind of trance.

As Lena had said, when the plane gained altitude and began to glide, Max emerged from his desperate state and became a playful and friendly child again. We read through all his books, scribbled all over his album, and played all the children's games, such as “patty-cake,” “magpie & crow,” “chock-chock” and many other tricks my wonderful mother taught me to keep children entertained. During these games and activities, I stopped noticing that Max wasn't speaking, fully tuning into his wave of gestures and muffled sounds. And the child was happy, often smiling, clapping with joy, and looking approvingly and cheerfully into my eyes. Only when the plane occasionally hit an air pocket did Max become wary and still, listening to his own sensations and, covering his ears, preparing to start humming. Fortunately, there weren't too many of those moments, and Max was even able to sleep for some time.

While he was sleeping, Lena told me about his psychological trauma: A big German shepherd scared and bit him when he was just under two years old. After Max was born, they went to Moscow twice a year to visit his grandmother, who adored Max and missed him a lot. On this trip, the grandmother scheduled an appointment with some famous Moscow ENT doctor, and Lena really hoped that he could help him.

“Physically, Max is fine, and his speech apparatus develops normally, just like in all children. Bishkek doctors say it's purely psychological, but they don't know how to help. Maybe this Moscow doctor will give us some advice and help,” Lena said.

“I really hope so,” I said empathetically. “He's such a wonderful child!”

“Thank you,” Lena said and added, “He really has taken to you too. Max feels easy with people who can genuinely empathize with him. It’s rare for him to play with someone for so long and with such pleasure.”

“Well, where else would he go on the plane?” I attempted a joke. “But seriously, I’ve gotten it from my mom. She can connect with any child, and they are drawn to her like a magnet.”

“Oh, my mom is the same!” Lena said excitedly, “I can't wait to see her and imagine how happy she will be when she meets us at the airport!”

“Does your mom live in Moscow?”

“Yes, she has her own business there. I grew up in the Moscow suburbs, I just got married and moved to Bishkek, but my husband doesn't want to leave. He has his own computer business there, and I like Bishkek too. I just wish we could visit my mom more often, but flying is a real challenge for Max, and the train takes too long.”

“That's for sure, a challenge! Poor child, he feels air pressure so acutely!”

"You have no idea! Even I find it hard to imagine. I consult with a child psychologist all the time. He suggested prolonged mooing as a special code, a kind of protective mechanism. When I say to him, 'Maxik, now there will be MMMMMMM,' he already knows what awaits him. Sometimes he copes better with the flight, sometimes worse, it all depends on the turbulence. But there has never been a time when he wasn't stressed out during the flight. That's why I pray every time that the takeoff and landing is easy and smooth. These plain words have long acquired a new special meaning for me...”

I listened to Lena, admiring her wisdom and patience. “Truly, life gives people trials that turn a young mother into a wise philosopher,” I thought. Too bad that at that time I was too young myself and didn't know how to tell people how wonderful they are, right there and then. As you age, it becomes easier and even a kind of an inner driver, a need...

The landing was particularly hard on Max. The descent of the plane was accompanied by sharp drops and jumps due to turbulence, and Max couldn't be kept in his seat even with his seat belt fastened. When the plane dropped into an air pocket, the little one instinctively jumped up, and Lena had to take him on her lap to limit his movements. In addition to the swaying with closed ears and loud moaning, Max couldn't hold back tears from the painful sensations welling up in his eyes. Anyone who has ever seen a silently crying child will understand what I mean: It is so unnatural that it reaches deep into your soul. Lena tried to hold him tight against her chest. Kissing him on the back of his head, she deliberately calmly and melodically repeated: “Just hold on a little longer, my love, soon it will all be over, we'll land, grandma will meet us there, and we'll go home. Just a little bit more, sweetie, hold on just a little bit longer.” Meanwhile, I just stroked his back stupidly and repeatedly thought to myself, “I'd rather you scream, Maxie, loudly and at the top of your lungs, so that all thin-skinned adult passengers are annoyed, but scream!”

I hope I don’t need to explain the relief we all felt when the plane finally landed. Max was so happy that his tears dried up immediately and he clapped his hands loudly, and Lena and I supported his joy with our applause. Who knows, maybe we even started the silly and annoying tradition of passengers clapping upon landing? Joking aside, I still regret not exchanging phone numbers with Lena. I would really like to know what happened to Max and if he was able to overcome his psychological barrier of muteness. And I also want to say “thank you” to this now 25-year-old guy for teaching me to be tolerant of crying children on airplanes. After all, it's so important that they can express their needs so directly, scream in pain, and call for help! And what a real happiness it is that children can cry, loudly and with all their might, cry!

***

P.S. With everything we know now about autism (not even a word in Russian in 1994), I often wonder if Max was a non-verbal autistic rather than psychological-trauma muted child. In any case, I still hope Lena was able to find adequate help for him.