Little terrorists

Children may be cute and charming, but they turn into miniature terrorists once they get onboard an aircraft. Not only do they terrorize flight attendants, they terrorize their very mothers, who inevitably bear the brunt and blame for the misbehavior of their offspring.

If anything, excessive children inflight are considered a liability. They wail, scream, run amok in the cabin, poop in their seats, and do a fantastic job making a mess. Think Preston, Porter, and Parker Scavo from Desperate Housewives.

Mothers usually show up at the galley at the busiest time to ask us to rinse out their baby bottles, usually caked with clumps of formula, and ask us to warm up some milk. Without a microwave, that process takes some creativity. Sometimes we even babysit when their exhausted mothers take a break in the toilet. I, having only held a dog, am not sure if any mother would ever want to entrust me with handling a baby.

Undeniably, Western babies stand out most with their big, watery, blue eyes and Goldilock's hair. Unfortunately, they are also the most destructive class of terrorists. Comparatively less restrained than their Asian counterparts, Western children go about restless doing their thing under little supervision from their parents. They crawl and play around the bulkhead, tossing crayons all over the place, and turn the busy aisles into a playground for tag. Some parents, equally disregardful of the public space, leave the area scattered with toys, papers, plastics, and trash spilling across the aisles. Are they always like this at home?

The flight I just came back from, Perth, was full of Aussie offspring. The aisles are our primary work space. And the same children, big and small, ran merrily up and down and interrupted while we were out with scalding hot coffee and food carts that could just easily squash them. Every time I turned around, especially when I was in a hurry, there were always those same girls bumping behind, leaving me with no choice but to squeeze pass with tray loads of trash and drinks. At one point I no longer played nice; I glared fiercely at them. Their parents didn’t seem to mind their safety, let alone that their kids were causing major disturbance. Even more amazing... some parents let their children squirm around the floor and pick things off the carpet straight into their mouth. If only we had 3D spectacles for dirt, grime, and germs in the cabin - I think I'd be seeing a rainbow.

And how about those children who don’t run rampant? They wail and they cry. (To be fair, some well-disciplined children really set excellent exemples - like I once did when I was a kid!). A Vancouver flight I once did last year haunted me till today. With over 25 infants and kids in Economy Class, the wailing lasted for 12 hours and seemed to be contagious. No, it did not look like a McDonald's happy birthday party in the cabin - it was a field of landmines where one detonated bomb ignites a string of nuclear explosions.

Nonetheless, when you have Preston, Porter, and Parker Scavo, you’ll occasionally also meet a Lynette Scavo, the Supermother. I’ve once had a mother who dexteriously changed her baby’s diaper during landing with both seatbelts on. And it’s not uncommon to have a mother who travels alone, and survives, with two kids in both hands and another hanging on her back, plus the luggage. Props up to moms.