I was seven years old when I first flew. My second flight round trip was from Mazatlan to Phoenix on the now defunct America West Airlines. It was also my first plane ride from hell.
Let me start off by saying that I had a stomach virus for the past week and had been hospitalized, but even though I was released still felt somewhat ill. On top of it all I had just had my third ear surgery earlier that year. I was a mess, but my mom wanted to get me home and treated by my own doctor as soon as possible, so we left early on the trip. How we left and for how much I don’t know since I was only seven.
After we arrived at the airport the plane was delayed for hours. Ultimately it was canceled and they couldn’t get us on until the next day.
When we finally boarded, because of crowding they separated my mom and me – me in first class because of my minor status, and my mom two rows behind me in coach. Even though I was sick, even at seven I knew what a privilege first class was.
My mom gave me Dramamine and ear plugs, and I fell asleep until the last 45 minutes of the flight when my virus struck back with a vengeance; I also had motion sickness. I was moved back with my mom where I proceeded to use seven barf bags in one sitting. The lady next to my mom took my spot in first class. After I puked I think I passed out as the next thing I remember is being in customs with the agents expediting us the hell out of there.
I was seven years old and the next time I flew was in the same year, but it was a whole different ball game as it was only a couple of months after 9/11. I was triple scared the next time to say the least.