I'm not a huge fan of the Huffington Post, but this little
gem needs to be shared. The next time a small child is asking for your
attention, maybe you should stop and play turtle with them. (I especially need
this reminder!)
Dear "Daddy,"
I don't know your name, but Kate called you
"daddy" for the entire flight last week and you kindly never
corrected her. In fact, you didn't even flinch as you could probably tell that
she was not confusing you with her own "daddy," but instead making a
judgment regarding your level of "safety" for her. If she calls you
"daddy" then you better believe she thinks you are alright.
I sat Kate, my
3-year-old who has autism, in the middle seat knowing full well that there
would be a stranger sitting next to her for the duration of this flight. I had
to make a quick decision and based on her obsession with opening and closing
the window shade, I figured she might be less of a distraction if she sat in
the middle. I watched the entire Temple basketball team board the plane, and
wondered if one of these giants might sit by Kate. They all moved toward the
back. She would have liked that, she would have made some observations that I
would have had to deal with, but she would have liked those players. I watched
many Grandmotherly women board and hoped for one to take the seat but they
walked on by. For a fleeting moment I thought we might have a free seat beside
us, and then you walked up and sat down with your briefcase and your important
documents and I had a vision of Kate pouring her water all over your
multi-million dollar contracts, or house deeds, or whatever it was you held.
The moment you sat down, Kate started to rub your arm. Your jacket was soft and
she liked the feel of it. You smiled at her and she said: "Hi, Daddy,
that's my mom." Then she had you.
You could have shifted
uncomfortably in your seat. You could have ignored her. You could have given me
that "smile" that I despise because it means; "manage your child
please." You did none of that. You engaged Kate in conversation and you
asked her questions about her turtles. She could never really answer your questions
but she was so enamored with you that she kept eye contact and joint attention
on the items you were asking her about. I watched and smiled. I made a few
polite offers to distract her, but you would have none of it.
Kate: (Upon noticing you had an
iPad) Is dis Daddy's puduter?
You: This is my iPad. Would you
like to see it?
Kate: To me?????? (I know she
thought you were offering it to her to keep)
Me: Look with your eyes, Kate.
That is not yours.
Kate: Dat's nice!
You: (Upon noticing that Kate had
an iPad) I like your computer, too. It has a nice purple case.
Kate: Daddy wanna be a bad guy?
(She offered shredder to you and that, my friend, is high praise)
You: Cool.
The interaction went on and on
and you never once seemed annoyed. She gave you some moments of peace while she
played with her Anna and Elsa dolls. Kind of her to save you from playing
Barbies, but I bet you wouldn't have minded a bit. I bet you have little girls,
too.
Not long before we landed Kate
had reached her limit. She screamed to have her seatbelt off, she screamed for
me to open the plane door and she cried repeating, "Plane is cwosed
(closed)" over and over. You tried to redirect her attention to her toys.
She was already too far gone at this point, but the fact that you tried to help
your new little friend made me emotional.
In case you are wondering, she
was fine the moment we stepped off the plane. Thank you for letting us go ahead
of you. She was feeling overwhelmed and escaping the plane and a big, long hug
was all she needed.
So, thank you. Thank you for not
making me repeat those awful apologetic sentences that I so often say in
public. Thank you for entertaining Kate so much that she had her most
successful plane ride, yet. And, thank you for putting your papers away and
playing turtles with our girl.
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