To the Mommy in Seat 10E
While we waited to board our flight,
You lowered your pregnant body to the floor,
And play dolls with your daughter,
Your attention fully focused on her.
From the aisle seat across from you, I watched you
Calm your little girl, so giddy with excitement about visiting Grandma.
You had a bag full of snacks, toys, and an iPad, which occupied her
Until the command came to power it down and fasten seat belts.
Then your sweet two-and-a-half year old went ballistic.
She screamed and kicked, threw off her shoes,
Squirmed and kicked her way out of the aisle seat twice,
Until somehow you belted her securely into the window seat.
Not once did you raise your voice.
Not once did you spank her bottom or slap her hand.
Instead you told her what she had to do,
Until finally she finally obeyed and fell asleep, exhausted.
Tears streamed down your face,
As you gazed through the window,
Too ashamed to make eye contact with me
Or the other passengers who’d witnessed the scene.
While your eyes were fixed on blue sky and clouds,
A packet of tissues and a note found its way into the empty seat beside you.
“Every parent on this plane’s been where you are today,” the note said.
“You’re a good mommy. Always remember that.”
