In my mind, only deranged people don’t want the window seat. I mean what sort of people don’t want to watch themselves soar above land and sea, above and through the clouds? Who wouldn’t want to see the landscape change? Who wouldn’t want to feel like a blessed bird? Ah, I know. Parents must not want the window seat, right? I mean, really, how many parents have you seen sitting next to windows on planes? Maybe one parent in your lifetime.
Note: This post is to inform all you future parents of exactly what you’ll be sacrificing in your quest to sprout seedlings.
You see, being a parent changes most people. It won’t change you in every way, but it will change you in many. For instance, I enjoy being a selfish bastard. It feels good to have the last cookie all to myself. If the kids don’t see me eating it because I happen to be hiding in my room, they won’t get hurt. You can judge me if you like, but I’ve made peace with myself.
But when it comes to certain aspects of parental sacrifice, there are few so obviously wrong as taking the window seat from your children. I wish there were a way that I could take the window seat on a plane without feeling like an utter failure as a human being, but there is no way. I’ve done the research, so don’t even bother.
Oh, the children, the dear children, they must have it. It doesn’t matter that I paid for the tickets and arranged a place for us to sleep. Doesn’t matter that I feed them and love them. Doesn’t matter that I’m an adult! No, children get the magical window seat, and that’s final.
Annie, my daughter, is actually too nervous to sit by the window, so thank God in heaven there’s never been a fight between the two of them as to which get’s the seat first. So one would think, “There’s your chance, Lyz. You can take turns with the boy!” Nope. The girl doesn’t want the window, but she does want the middle seat so as to be close enough to peer through the window. She apparently feels shielded from certain death when her brother acts as a buffer.
This leaves me with the cursed aisle seat. I know you can’t tell, but I just spit the word aisle out of my mouth. On the way to our recent trip to New York City (which I’ll be telling you all about soon enough) I sat in the aisle seat and read and wrote and twisted my neck and body to see what all the gasping ohhs and ahhs were about. That was on the way there.
Prior to our flight back home, we had been walking the city for an entire day and were exhausted. Our flight gets delayed 3 times. We sit in the freezing airport for about 5 hours. Did I mention that it’s freezing? The cost of food is proof that morality has gone to shit. We finally make it onto the plane at 11pm. The plane, also, is freezing. What’s with Americans and this addiction to low temperatures?
Anyhow, Austin takes the window seat; Annie takes the center; I’m in the aisle.
Within 20 minutes, they are collapsed on top of each other in deep breathing sleep. I am bleary-eyed and miserable to an ugly degree. The other benefit of the window seat, besides the view? Having a place to rest my blasted big heavy head when I’m in a Rocky Balboa against the Russian type of fighting to get some rest. Also, I want you to notice that Austin is collapsed onto his sister. He isn’t even using the window as a head prop! And here I am shifting into every conceivable position that my stiff body will allow just to get a taste of sweet sleep.
It never happens. We arrive home 2 1/2 hours later and I’m wondering if there are any midnight yoga classes available in my area. My body is as stiff and cold as a bag of frozen peas and my neck is seriously considering quitting me altogether.
As a side note, I didn’t bring my neck pillow with me because I figured it’s a short ride and we’d be arriving home before bedtime. Man makes plans and God laughs.
Do yourselves a favor parents and future parents, book yourself a nice solo flight if you’d ever like to have a window seat again.