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I'm missing the opportunity of a lifetime. I haven't been to Hawaii since I was ten. I remember sitting at a table at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel and thinking, someday I'd like to get married here. That dream didn't happen for me, but it did for Amy. On the day Michael Jackson died in 2009, my daughter and Cory tied the knot on Magic Beach. Cory is in the Navy, and a Chaplain performed the ceremony. I wished I could have been there for my only daughter, but I didn't have the money for a plane ticket and anyway, I'm absolutely terrified to fly.
In 1968, my family was flying high (no pun intended). Dad was doing well in his engineering career. His company, Wems, provided parts for the Apollo space missions and my dad designed the modules. He was forty and had just bought a big house in Tustin. We had new cars every year, new clothes from department stores, horses, bikes and then he got the idea that we should do some traveling. I had no idea that the trip would traumatize me forever...
First, the airlines lost my luggage along with many of my Christmas presents (we flew out of California on December 26). But the island, once we arrived, was mesmerizing. Hula dancers greeted us with leis, the water was clear and gave off a greenish glow; and the sky was pure and blue. I didn't have any clothes to wear other than what I had on and then it started to rain. My dad suggested that we all go to a movie.
Unfortunately, the one we went to see was Bob, Carol, Ted and Alice--the story of two couples who decided to have an orgy. My mother was livid and insisted that we leave. So we walked out after the opening scene and dad wasted his money. I can't help but wonder what he was thinking.
We were to visit all four islands. While staying at the Coco Palms on Kaui, Grandma and I got a huge thrill. I looked up as I lay in bed and saw a large lizard on the wall. I screamed. My dad came running from the next room and told me to "suck it up" but I was terrified. I cried for most of the night thinking I'd be eaten by the foot-long monster. My skin was crawling. The only good news I got on that trip was that in the morning, my luggage was delivered to the hotel.
On our way to the island of Hawaii, I had an adventure that changed the way I felt about flying. I used to love it but on this one particular flight, I got up to use the restroom and couldn't get the door unlocked when I tried to leave. I almost panicked but at the last second managed to get it open.
When I needed to use the restroom again, I told my dad that I was scared. I asked him to stand outside the door in case I needed help unlocking it. He said, "okay," but when I had trouble again, I called for him and he didn't answer.
Then a red light came on that told me to go back to my seat. I went into full-blown panic. I started to scream and bang on the door hysterically but my dad didn't respond. Finally, I turned the knob one last time. Something clicked and I fell out onto the floor. My dad came running down the aisle. I was so upset. How dare he tell me he'd wait for me and then go back to his seat?
As he led me away, I heard a stewardess say, "Poor kid!" I didn't know whether she was referring to the circumstances or the fact that I had him for a dad. By then, I really didn't care. Dad told me that the plane was in trouble and that we had to turn back. I was terrified. When I next saw the stewardesses, tears were flowing down their faces. This could not be a good sign.
They started to pass out drinks for the adults. My dad was slinging back as many as he could get his hands on. I asked him if we were going to die. He just laughed. His face turned red and his eyes watered. I'll never forget the monumental feeling of dread that came over me. I thought that if I could just get my feet on the ground again, I'd kiss it. And I'd certainly never get back on a plane.
We flew by the control tower so that officials could confirm that it was in fact our tire that they'd found on the runway. Then we had to fly in circles for what seemed like hours to burn off the fuel before attempting to land. When the plane finally did come in for a landing, I looked out the window and saw fire trucks. Then we landed in foam that shot up clear to the top of the plane.
The landing was bumpy to say the least. We hit the ground with a giant thump and then bounced along the foamy asphalt with my teeth jarring in my head. I was so glad to be back on the ground, I didn't care how much my teeth hurt. I just lived for the moment when the plane would come to a rest. After it finally came to a stop, the other passengers clapped.
"Screw this," I thought. "Leave flying for the birds."
I had to fly again to get back home. I held my breath every minute of the way. I clutched the armrests and when the plane lurched, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
A decade later, I was in a nightclub when the assistant to a fashion designer asked me if I'd fly to San Francisco to model in a show. The assistant told me that when Mr. Zamudio first saw me, he'd gone crazy.
"Isn't she a little short for runway modeling?" the assistant asked.
"I don't care," Mr. Zamudio exclaimed. "I love her 'go to hell' attitude!"
It was the chance of a lifetime. All week, I talked myself into getting on that plane at Lindbergh field. I was to fly with a photographer named Mike. While waiting in the bar for the flight, I was talking to a stranger about my fear of flying. He then went on to tell me all about witnessing the crash of the PSA airliner and how arms and legs had been found all over North Park.
I was sweaty, but still willing to get on the plane. And then I saw thunder and lightening outside the window. I tried to return my ticket, but I was told there were no refunds. Hysterically, I tore up the ticket and threw it in the clerk's face.
Mike subsequently got on the plane without me.
And now I'm missing the opportunity to spend time with my daughter on the beach at Waikiki. I'll never see the palace that she talks about or camp out with the sound of waves crashing on the shore right outside the tent. We won't collect multi-colored seashells either so that I can show them to my grandkids one day.
And the worst news of all is that the Navy may be sending Cory and Amy to Japan. It could be years before I see my daughter again, because I'm afraid to fly.
I'm missing the opportunity of a lifetime. I haven't been to Hawaii since I was ten. I remember sitting at a table at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel and thinking, someday I'd like to get married here. That dream didn't happen for me, but it did for Amy. On the day Michael Jackson died in 2009, my daughter and Cory tied the knot on Magic Beach. Cory is in the Navy, and a Chaplain performed the ceremony. I wished I could have been there for my only daughter, but I didn't have the money for a plane ticket and anyway, I'm absolutely terrified to fly.
In 1968, my family was flying high (no pun intended). Dad was doing well in his engineering career. His company, Wems, provided parts for the Apollo space missions and my dad designed the modules. He was forty and had just bought a big house in Tustin. We had new cars every year, new clothes from department stores, horses, bikes and then he got the idea that we should do some traveling. I had no idea that the trip would traumatize me forever...
First, the airlines lost my luggage along with many of my Christmas presents (we flew out of California on December 26). But the island, once we arrived, was mesmerizing. Hula dancers greeted us with leis, the water was clear and gave off a greenish glow; and the sky was pure and blue. I didn't have any clothes to wear other than what I had on and then it started to rain. My dad suggested that we all go to a movie.
Unfortunately, the one we went to see was Bob, Carol, Ted and Alice--the story of two couples who decided to have an orgy. My mother was livid and insisted that we leave. So we walked out after the opening scene and dad wasted his money. I can't help but wonder what he was thinking.
We were to visit all four islands. While staying at the Coco Palms on Kaui, Grandma and I got a huge thrill. I looked up as I lay in bed and saw a large lizard on the wall. I screamed. My dad came running from the next room and told me to "suck it up" but I was terrified. I cried for most of the night thinking I'd be eaten by the foot-long monster. My skin was crawling. The only good news I got on that trip was that in the morning, my luggage was delivered to the hotel.
On our way to the island of Hawaii, I had an adventure that changed the way I felt about flying. I used to love it but on this one particular flight, I got up to use the restroom and couldn't get the door unlocked when I tried to leave. I almost panicked but at the last second managed to get it open.
When I needed to use the restroom again, I told my dad that I was scared. I asked him to stand outside the door in case I needed help unlocking it. He said, "okay," but when I had trouble again, I called for him and he didn't answer.
Then a red light came on that told me to go back to my seat. I went into full-blown panic. I started to scream and bang on the door hysterically but my dad didn't respond. Finally, I turned the knob one last time. Something clicked and I fell out onto the floor. My dad came running down the aisle. I was so upset. How dare he tell me he'd wait for me and then go back to his seat?
As he led me away, I heard a stewardess say, "Poor kid!" I didn't know whether she was referring to the circumstances or the fact that I had him for a dad. By then, I really didn't care. Dad told me that the plane was in trouble and that we had to turn back. I was terrified. When I next saw the stewardesses, tears were flowing down their faces. This could not be a good sign.
They started to pass out drinks for the adults. My dad was slinging back as many as he could get his hands on. I asked him if we were going to die. He just laughed. His face turned red and his eyes watered. I'll never forget the monumental feeling of dread that came over me. I thought that if I could just get my feet on the ground again, I'd kiss it. And I'd certainly never get back on a plane.
We flew by the control tower so that officials could confirm that it was in fact our tire that they'd found on the runway. Then we had to fly in circles for what seemed like hours to burn off the fuel before attempting to land. When the plane finally did come in for a landing, I looked out the window and saw fire trucks. Then we landed in foam that shot up clear to the top of the plane.
The landing was bumpy to say the least. We hit the ground with a giant thump and then bounced along the foamy asphalt with my teeth jarring in my head. I was so glad to be back on the ground, I didn't care how much my teeth hurt. I just lived for the moment when the plane would come to a rest. After it finally came to a stop, the other passengers clapped.
"Screw this," I thought. "Leave flying for the birds."
I had to fly again to get back home. I held my breath every minute of the way. I clutched the armrests and when the plane lurched, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
A decade later, I was in a nightclub when the assistant to a fashion designer asked me if I'd fly to San Francisco to model in a show. The assistant told me that when Mr. Zamudio first saw me, he'd gone crazy.
"Isn't she a little short for runway modeling?" the assistant asked.
"I don't care," Mr. Zamudio exclaimed. "I love her 'go to hell' attitude!"
It was the chance of a lifetime. All week, I talked myself into getting on that plane at Lindbergh field. I was to fly with a photographer named Mike. While waiting in the bar for the flight, I was talking to a stranger about my fear of flying. He then went on to tell me all about witnessing the crash of the PSA airliner and how arms and legs had been found all over North Park.
I was sweaty, but still willing to get on the plane. And then I saw thunder and lightening outside the window. I tried to return my ticket, but I was told there were no refunds. Hysterically, I tore up the ticket and threw it in the clerk's face.
Mike subsequently got on the plane without me.
And now I'm missing the opportunity to spend time with my daughter on the beach at Waikiki. I'll never see the palace that she talks about or camp out with the sound of waves crashing on the shore right outside the tent. We won't collect multi-colored seashells either so that I can show them to my grandkids one day.
And the worst news of all is that the Navy may be sending Cory and Amy to Japan. It could be years before I see my daughter again, because I'm afraid to fly.