As summer approaches, many families are discussing their vacation plans, including sending their children to amusement parks, well-known campgrounds, and magical destinations with grandparents. This allows parents a much-needed respite, transforming them from caregivers to couples for a few cherished weeks each year.
When my son, Noah, was just six years old, we were residing on Maui while my parents lived in Oregon. One summer, they called to express their desire to take Noah to Disneyland in California. After considerable deliberation about how to get Noah to them, my mother informed me that she had already contacted the airline, which confirmed that he could travel as an “unaccompanied minor.”
He’s only six, Mom! SIX years old! To make matters worse, he was petite.
As I glanced at my little boy, sporting a charming Hawaiian-style haircut and round glasses reminiscent of a miniature Harry Potter, my mother continued to assure me that he could board a 747 solo, flying to Portland.
“It’ll be fine,” she urged. “A flight attendant will be assigned to him, and he won’t be left alone at any point. It’s a direct flight. We’ll pick him up in Portland.”
After several more minutes of debate, with Noah leaping around in excitement shouting, “I’m going to Disneyland!! I’m going to Disneyland!!” I reluctantly set aside my concerns and agreed to let him fly with a stranger, trusting the attendant wouldn’t accidentally send him to Botswana, resulting in an international search and a dramatic movie titled “I Gave My Child to a Stranger and They Lost Him. Bad Mommy.”
At the airport, I completed the extensive paperwork, attaching copies of his birth certificate, my driver’s license, and a comprehensive list of emergency contacts spanning three states and two countries. While Noah was ecstatic about the prospect of “traveling all by himself,” I was a teary wreck. “Don’t worry,” the flight attendant reassured me, “We haven’t lost one yet.” Yet? My anxiety soared. Moments later, I watched my only child board the plane and cried all the way home.
He had an incredible adventure.
Two weeks later, as I anxiously awaited his arrival at the airport, armed with the multiple forms of identification required to reclaim a minor, I finally spotted his beaming face. He appeared to have matured slightly, more confident and more boy than toddler. As I processed these changes in my son (could this trip have actually been beneficial for him?), tears of relief streamed down my face as I realized he was home safe and sound.
Ignoring the attendants instructing me to “Stay behind the yellow line, ma’am. BEHIND THE YELLOW LINE,” I rushed forward, scooped him into a tight embrace, and sobbed uncontrollably, reassuring him that he had been missed every single day. (Yes, it was likely every 6-year-old’s worst nightmare to be embraced by a weeping mother in public—a moment that would surely resurface in therapy down the line, but I couldn’t contain my joy. My baby was back.)
Typically, picking up an “unaccompanied minor” at the airport entails strict ID protocols. A simple driver’s license won’t suffice. The legal repercussions of allowing the wrong child to leave with someone can lead to significant settlements, prompting airlines to exercise extreme caution. At the time of ticket purchase, passengers receive a detailed list of required documentation for child custody transfer.
As I fumbled through my purse for the necessary documents, the flight attendant smiled and dryly remarked, “And you must be the mother.” “Yes,” I sniffed, still clinging to Noah as if he were a lifeline. The attendant then asked, “Noah, is this your mom?” Noah, showcasing the humor that would become his signature, looked up and quipped, “Well, she wouldn’t be my first choice, but yeah, she’s my mom.”
Fast forward fourteen years later, and Noah was set to fly to Iraq. We experienced this emotional ordeal again, dropping him off while I cried all the way home. When he returned a year later, safe and sound, I cried again and embraced him publicly. This time, he simply grinned and said, “It’s okay, Mom. Go crazy.”
Ultimately, I’ve concluded that children, no matter their age, should never be too far away—within a reasonable driving distance, at least. It’s just too difficult on their mothers. When he gets redeployed, I’ve decided I’ll accompany him, but I won’t share that plan just yet. I might end up traveling as an “unaccompanied mother.”
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In summary, the journey of parenting involves emotional challenges, especially when it comes to letting go, whether it’s for a few days or a year. Each experience shapes our children and us, reminding us of the importance of connection, no matter the distance.