Fear and Excitement at the Same Time
I was about to do something that no one in my family had ever done before — get on a plane
‘Come to the edge.’ ‘We can’t. We’re afraid.’ ‘Come to the edge.’ ‘We can’t. We will fall!’ ‘Come to the edge.’ And they came. And he pushed them. And they flew. — Guillaume Apollinaire
I could barely breathe and felt a tightness in my chest at the same time as I hummed Edith Piaf’s “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien” while I got ready for my adventure.
Preparing for it was like putting together a flat-pack bookcase — doable if you know what the parts are and how to assemble them. I didn’t. I’d never done this before.
Was I getting cold feet? I was suddenly frozen with fear. What would the people be like? Could any of them speak English if I forgot my French? What if I got sick when I was in France?
My university graduation had happened a month ago in May 1971; my parents had held a “fundraising” party on May 31; I turned 21 on June 14 and left for England and France six days later on June 20. It was like being in the centre of a fast-moving storm.
I was counting the days until I’d be away from the handcuffs that Mom, Dad and society had placed on me.
But I needed to take a leap of faith that I was doing the right thing for me.
…
Why was my first trip on a plane to France? My paternal grandmother, Corinne Tétreault, was French Canadian and since I was a child, signed my birthday cards “Bon anniversaire. Je t’aime. Ta gran’mère.” That act started me on the road to becoming a Francophile.
I took French all through high school and majored in it in university to graduate with my BA in French.
….
The dictionary definition of adventure states, “Engaging in an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity such as a trip or experience or the excitement produced by such an activity.”
I didn’t think this trip was hazardous but Mom did! To me, it was as if I was a caterpillar shedding its old skin. I felt like a baby bird leaving the nest.
….
On June 20, my three brothers came along on the two-hour drive from London, Ontario to Malton Airport, which was later called Pearson, in Toronto.
My wound-up youngest brothers, eight-year-old Philip and six-year-old John, squabbled constantly about who should have the window seat. It bothered my Dad who often eyed them in the rearview mirror and snapped, “Stop that! Your arguing upsets me. I’m driving and have to focus on the highway!”
They’d stop for a time then start again and Dad would do and say the same thing. It added to the rollercoaster ride of emotions we were all experiencing.
…
The airport building was vaster than anything we’d ever seen. We gaped. Swallowed up by its size, we looked up at the ceiling, as Dad observed, “It’s so high that I can almost see clouds!”
The surroundings were abuzz with bustling people. Some hurried to board flights and others to get in lineups for check-in. There was urgency in their movements. They spoke loudly above the din. Hawaiian shirts abounded. Sandals were the order of the day.
Looking around, I pointed to the line for my flight and en masse, we filed over and waited for my turn at the desk, chattering as we went. My brothers couldn’t stay still. They tirelessly shifted from foot to foot. Like a racehorse entering his gate at a big race, I was pumped to board the plane.
Even though she smiled, Mom’s tense shoulders and wringing hands gave away her reluctance for me to travel so far alone.
Dad was proud of me and stood taller. He was grinning from ear to ear and I could hear him thinking, This is my daughter flying to France on her own.
John and Phil, being kids, were laughing and running around and playing with the stanchions. At one point Dad barked, “Stop acting like little banshees and come and stand here!”
Mark didn’t exhibit his feelings — after all, he had turned 19 today! His words said he was pleased for me, but I knew by his pouty lip that he was envious.
Finally, I checked in. We said goodbye and hugged each other. Dad squeezed me tightly. Mom’s eyes were filled with tears as she pulled me to her, kissed me, and whispered in my ear, “I love you. Be careful.” Disengaging myself, I moaned, “Don’t do that, Mom. Everybody’s looking.”
It was time to go. I waved as the sliding doors closed behind me. A flood of emotion washed over me. “I’m raring to go,” I thought. I paused and took a deep breath before I pressed ahead on my adventure.
Time to fly literally and figuratively as the quote at the beginning says.
No one pushed me. I was ready.
