We’d had to sprint through the terminal to make our plane. I’d just settled in my seat and regained the ability to talk and breathe simultaneously when my eighteen-month old nephew, Chris, tugged my sleeve.

        “Pacifier pease Auntie.” 

      I turned to my sister, who turned to my brother-in- law Mike whose sole job had been to pack the baby’s bag, and watched as his face slid off.

        “I left it on the table,” he said.

      Always prepared, my sister handed me a brand new one. 

      “MINE.” Chris snatched the pacifier like an eagle would its prey and jammed it in his mouth.

      I leaned back, anticipating the sound of happy gurgling. Instead, the high-pitch squeal I heard brought to mind a dentist’s drill.

      My eyes swept the cabin searching for the squeal’s source, so I could stop my brain from slamming into my skull. Instead of joining my search, people stared, not at me, at Chris, and I realized he was the source.

      Chris’ squeals stopped; he clawed the air like a junkie craving a fix. “No Auntie. Pacifier pease. Mine pacifier.” 

      I handed him the pacifier he’d dropped. “Here it is baby.”

      “NOOOOOOOOOOO.” Exorcist-baby hurled the pacifier five rows up where it bounced off a bald man’s head. 

      The man turned. I ducked. Chris’ screams activated auntie privilege. When Chris decides to wear his dinner, back he goes. When his diaper looks like he’s packing, back he goes. And when he pitches a fit that only a mother could love, back he goes.

      I handed my sister her wildebeest. “The baby needs his momma,” I said.

      As Chris screamed his way across seven states and three time zones, I made several sociological observations. First there’s an inverse relationship between the sympathy extended to a crying child and the amount of time he cries. Second, the parent who left the pacifier gains sole custody.  

      Further observation revealed a direct correlation between the amount of hateful stares a family receives and the speed at which said family disassociates itself from the screaming child. 

      Once we’d moved, my sister and I joined in the hateful stares marooning my nephew and brother-in-law in a sea of empty seats

      I sat next to the bald man who’d been the recipient of Chris’ initial missile. 

        “I saw that baby’s pacifier hit you,” I said. “Some people just can’t control their children.” To make it real good, I gave my brother-in-law the evil eye. 

      “Auntie,” my nephew wailed. 

      “Isn’t that pitiful,” I said. “That poor child’s so delirious he thinks he has an aunt on this plane.”