Flying Home from Lincoln

We flew home from Lincoln on Monday and I was feeling a pretty high level of anxiety in anticipation because of how badly the flight out had gone. It was an interesting endeavor for me to figure out what help I needed and who to ask for it because I simply couldn't juggle the kids and luggage all by myself. It may seem obvious to frequent travelers and people who stay in hotels, but I even had to pause and think, "Now, how on earth do I get all our luggage down to the lobby? Hhhhmmm. Oh yes, I can call for a luggage cart AND ask the bellhop to take the luggage down for me!"

I called ahead to the Hertz counter because I was supposed to drive my car to a distant drop-off lot and make my way back with all my belongings. One of the benefits of flying out of a teeny tiny airport is that they can bend rules to be more helpful. I was directed to drive up and simply leave my car parked in front of the airport unattended, that the staff would go park it for me later. Can you imagine that at a larger airport? Then the lone attendant at the Hertz desk left her station to come out, unload my suitcases, uninstall my car seats, and tie them into their plastic bags for being checked. Then she took my belongings in several trips to the airport counter. A person could run from one end of the airport to the other in about sixty seconds and it was virtually empty, so I received great service there.

But then the trip took a difficult turn. When security opened up--it is such a small airport, that it only opens right before flights--I marched us through. Even before going through the metal detector, a woman agent told me that I'd have to have a manual pat-down because I was wearing a skirt. I don't advertise it, but those who know me closely know that I try to dress modestly and part of that is always wearing skirts that fall somewhere between below the knee and the ankle. It's been years now and you simply won't ever find me in pants, not even at home. I'm not saying that to cause controversy, but to explain why the following was so upsetting.

I was ushered into the glass-enclosed inspection room and my children were somewhat separated from me, John sat in a chair and Mary sat in her stroller, both told not to move. This was when my Mama Bear radar went off and I sensed that I was at threat of being separated from my children. I decided that my tactic would be to be passive and do whatever was asked as quickly as possible to get away from all the security, so I could have my kids. Also, I wanted to behave calmly so as not to scare John, who was definitely old enough to know that something strange was going on.

Then the agent made a mistake and left us unattended for a few seconds while obtaining a new pair of latex gloves. This caused problems because I could have passed something to the children. Two other female agents joined her and began whispering heatedly back and forth about how "the subject" had been left alone with the children, how much contact had she had with them (read: how much did she touch them), what do we do now? You can imagine that my internal radar was beeping more and more wildly at hearing all this concern.

I was then told exactly how the pat-down would go. For those who don't know, the pat-downs have changed recently and are much more aggresive. (Much has been in the news lately.) I was offered a private screening, which I opted for. That meant that one agent had to clear out the bathroom, then stand guard at the bathroom door, while two agents escorted us in, one to act as witness.

I was being patted down and feeling very humiliated, while John was in a corner being told not to move, when I noticed that Mary was being patted down with no warning given to me, and certainly no permission asked (ha ha). Mama is livid now, but hiding it. Then a male agent was brought in to pat down John and I felt sad for him because he is a naturally very modest boy.

I asked for clarification and it was my skirt that was the problem. So, a woman can wear painted-on clothing and be fine, a woman can expose half her bosom and be fine, a woman can wear a skirt virtually no longer than a pair of underwear and be fine, a woman can be wearing clothes no different than a streetwalker and be fine, but if a woman dares to try to dress modestly in a long skirt and a shirt with 3/4 sleeves, that is a security danger. It made me wonder how Amish women, nuns, or Indians in saris would be treated, or priests who wear cassocks. And I felt some bizarre kinship with women who desire to wear burkas and are being asked to dress in a way that they feel violates their modesty. I can tell you, as strange as it will seem to many of my readers, wearing pants is not something I would feel comfortable doing during future air travel, so am I going to face this every time in the future? Is that the price I will pay for my faith?

At the time of the whole event, I was enraged and felt very violated. I desperately wanted to get out of that airport and didn't feel safe till we were in the air. The primitive Mama Bear part of my brain felt that my children might be separated from me at any moment. Had I been alone, I would have behaved very differently (with confrontation, seeking out managers, being asked to see rule books) but Mama Bear made a different decision because I knew that I had no strength, no leg to stand on to defend myself.

I don't have the answers. I don't know what the security agencies are supposed to do if they are receiving what they believe to be credible threats that females with children are going to be used by terrorists, or that women will disguise themselves as pregnant to hide contraband. I might be wrong, but it is my understanding that our new body scanners (which I am purposefully trying to avoid, which we still retain the civil rights to do) would not have caught the "underwear bomber," nor would this new kind of pat down, as utterly invasive as it is.

I believe that Americans are going to have to make a choice about which invasions are worth our safety. Frankly, in order to be really safe in the air, all passengers should undergo background checks the week prior to flying and should receive full body cavity searches at the airport. Then we would be safe. But Americans would not tolerate that. We would be forced to say that we'd rather have a plane go down than submit to such invasion. I believe that America is currently figuring out where the line is: What do we think of these naked body scanners? What do we think of these pat-downs where nothing is left untouched? Is this worth it? When you see your one- and three-year-olds being "handled" by strangers and your parental consent has vanished as a God-given right, is that worth it?

And what do we think of our profiling? As many rumors are floated about different profiles used by terrorists--to fail in political correctness--I haven't seen any terrorists on our soil who were other than Arabic males. And yet when I travel on airplanes (which is two to three times per year--and Chris travels once or twice a month), I see the people being frisked are Caucasians, elderly ladies in wheelchairs who are almost too crippled to move, little children, and so forth. To say it calmly and politely, this leaves me with a lot of questions.

To finish up the story, the rest of the flights went well. Nobody got sick. The kids behaved basically sweetly. One of the car seats was lost, so we had to hang around baggage claim for a long time, then file a claim. Thank goodness, we own three car seats, the extra of which was still in the van, so we had two seats in which to drive the kids home. We had some humorous adventure on the way home because somehow, inexplicably, we set off our car alarm while we were in it. The only key fob that turns off the alarm was on my set of keys back at home. So we had to start driving home with the horn blaring and lights flashing, at the end of an exhausting day. After a few minutes, the alarm turned off, but when we pulled into a restaurant parking lot, very hungry for a late dinner, the alarm turned on again! So we had to drive straight home (blaring), race inside, find my key fob, deactivate the alarm, and collapse in a heap. Thank God for a husband who made us dinner so I could get off my feet!