After taking a fifteen-month-old through airport security yesterday, I'll never complain about going through it solo again. Okay, I will, but at least I'll have a better appreciation of how much more difficult it could be. Although we were lucky to deal with a TSA agent who had the discretionary authority to allow our son to proceed through the checkpoint without removing his shoes. You never can be too careful you know.
His first flight went off quite well. Just over three hour to Miami and no meltdowns, minor or major. We can only hope to be so lucky on the way back.
I didn't take my first airline flight until I was seven years old. Minneapolis to San Antonio through Kansas City on a multi-colored Braniff aircraft. I can still remember the crappy scrambled eggs on the flight and trying to find some children's aspirin at the Kansas City airport because JB had a headache (yes, he was a bit like this kid). Good times, good times.
Hate to cut this short, but I have a pool waiting outside with my name on. And a beer or eight. It's eighty-five and sunny here in Miami. I don't think I'll be getting homesick anytime soon.
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