THE TWA KIT
"During the Mad Men days, when air travel was fancy, my dad’s father worked for TWA ...."
During the Mad Men days, when air travel was fancy, my dad’s father worked for TWA in Chicago. Booze, cigarettes and glamour 36,000 feet in the air. As a perk, the family received free (minus taxes and fees) plane tickets for life. When Dad was in his early 20s, he flew around the world on TWA for less than the price of a hotel room today.
The first and last time I flew TWA was in the late ’90s, when I was 19 and Dad, my sister and I went to Illinois and Iowa to visit family. For the flight he instructed us to look nice. Be presentable. In junior high I’d been overweight, which he had commented on all the time. I’d learned to shut down what he said about my appearance. He could absolutely never understand when he offended someone, which he did all the time, even when he was sober.
Despite my low expectations, the trip turned out to be fun. Still, I decided to fly home two days early. I liked a guy. I’d have the house to myself. I planned to invite him over and see what happened. Dad booked my standby flight and drove me to the airport. It was humid in Illinois, and I was going to Arizona, so I wore a T-shirt and shorts. In my heart, I dared him to challenge me. He didn’t.
The flight from Chicago had a seat for me, and after a four-hour layover in St. Louis, it looked as if I had a spot on the connecting flight too—until the gate agent stopped me and told me I couldn’t board. My standby ticket, it turned out, was a special ticket. With a dress code. If you flew with this kind of ticket, you were representing the airline. “No shorts,” they said. “Pants or a dress.”
By telling me to look presentable, I had thought my father was being my father, kind of rude and out of touch. If I had understood the way the ticket worked, I would have dressed differently. If I had understood the way my father worked, our whole relationship might have been different.
In hindsight, I think he may have been on the autism spectrum, as my sister is. But while he was alive he baffled me and I spent a lot of time trying to figure him out. I can tell you that he loved Folgers coffee. And Kit Kats. And first-aid kits and burning things in firepits. He was handy, and for years he always kept wood in the bed of his pickup truck; my friend and I joked that if he ever suddenly needed to build a lean-to, he’d be all set. In his later years he got into hiking and we often hiked together. In his way, he showed up for me.
When I cleaned out his house after he died, I found this little TWA vanity bag. I don’t know if it was given to him when he flew the airline himself or if it was something he kept after my grandfather died. Either way, I was surprised to find it. My father wasn’t sentimental. On the other hand, my grandfather valued TWA—it was his life—and my father valued my grandfather. Dad wasn’t good with feelings, his or mine, but I like the idea that he hung onto this bag.
—Stephanie Austin
Stephanie Austin lives in Phoenix and is the author of Something I Might Say (WTAW Press).