We all got up early in the morning to leave for the airport. The usual hi-jinks emerged as I was trying to load six people into the car for the 60 minute drive to the airport. I forgot to go to the bathroom, Emily left the diaper bag, John and Allison were playing with fireworks in the kitchen. You know the usual stuff. We dropped Henry off at the doggie boarding place and we were off.
At the airport trying to keep six people together is like herding cats. We made it to security and the cpap machine was on my mind. Should I take it out of the bag? Should I dismantle it, should I ask someone? What should I do with this damn cpap machine?! Should I take my laptop out of the carry on? All these questions, why do I get so worried at security?
Just as my machine and laptop bags make it safely to the other side without raising any kind of red flags and drawing attention to myself, I notice my 16 year old son, Tristan, being taken out of the line and getting a pat down. As I head over there to see what was going on, I see that he is not shaken, seems to be taking it in stride. I’m thinking he is just getting one of those “random searches” and we’ll be laughing about it later, plus he’ll have a funny story to tell his friends. Yes, that’s what I thought until one of the airport security guards tells me your son’s hands tested positive for explosives! Explosives! His whole life flashed before my eyes! For some reason Harris and Klebold come to mind, Columbine, handcuffed, talking to him through glass! Then my mind clears a bit….
“The Fireworks!” I exclaim.
Everyone seems relieved at the explanation, especially the guards for some reason. Tristan is still standing there with a grin, looking amused by the whole situation. I know what’s going through his mind, “This is going to make a great facebook post”.