As a child, nearly all summers from age 4 to 18 were spent in Chicago with my father and all of the many family members that make up our clan. The only things I really had to think about was how many rides I’d be going on at Great America and how many movies dad and I would see at the theater. Very little planning was required on my part other than, “Should I bring my doll or my bear on the plane?”
a little humor before leaving for the airport
Today, I got a taste of what my mother and father went through when they walked me to the gate at the airport each time I flew and how they must have felt while they watched a stranger escort me to the plane. It’s a sad, helpless feeling watching one’s babies travel this way. Precious cargo – in someone else’s hands…
the magic envelope I held onto with my life
It was a strange experience, walking my kids through security and the rest of the airport even though I wasn’t actually the one flying anywhere. That privilege cost me $100, courtesy of Delta’s ongoing practice of punishing travelers with ridiculous fees that we can barely afford. I paid it, regardless, and we tried to enjoy some dinner (and a Wetzel’s Pretzel) before heading to the gate.
mcdonald's and wetzel's pretzel - not the healthiest, but the pretzel was SO worth it
When it came time for them to board, I barely held it together. I waited and watched the plane pull away from the gate. Now I wait for them to land.
just before the plane pulled away
[Update: They landed safe and sound.]