Wee Quinn is a traveler. She has flown, and her ship (actually a ferry) has sailed. We were fortunate enough to visit family in Upstate New York, and friends in Boston week before last. A change of pace was nice, and probably needed. And-a pleasant surprise-Q is a master jet setter. She is a friendly and compliant flyer, and brings a three year old's perspective to things that we jaded adults have long forgotten to be amazed by. And seeing how different the rest of the world is from our home certainly gives us perspective on both.
The look of wonder on her face would be hard to capture in words, but her words were the most endearing. Highlights: "I can see the whole village out the window dad." (In this case the city of Norfolk). Upon beginning our decent, "We're going down guys!" I explained that landing was probably a less provocative description. Adjacent passengers laughed. . .nervously. When landings were bumpy--which they all seem to be when traveling with such precious cargo--"Phew that was a close one!" When I asked close to what, she just shrugged and looked at me as if I was the most naive person in the world.
All of our flights went smoothly and flying from Norfolk to Albany, things seemed tame to say the least. By the time Q was awaiting departure at Logan, she was an old hand. I, on the other hand, found a lot at Logan to occupy my parental mind. I sensed Deanna was feeling the same way when she pointed out a guy in a Saint Louis Cardinals hat (the Cards had beaten Boston the night before, no small crime in Boston, and during the world series). "Why's he gotta wear that hat, is he trying to get beat up?" Then there was the guy doing yoga, why he had to be limber for the flight I couldn't guess. I like to be limber for a flight, but bloody marys work way better than yoga.
Of course yoga guy and his buddy stood in the aisle for five agonizing minutes in which I was 48.7% sure they were up to no good. I was beginning to feel a little like Juan Williams, but nobody had a beard--except me. Maybe this is not unique to me, but as a father, pretty much everyone seems like at least a low level threat. Watching someone do yoga in an airport terminal while listening to the TSA's admonishment to report strange behavior raised my suspicion. In truth, I did a quick inventory in the terminal. I'd say eighty percent of my fellow passengers waiting in the terminal were either reading or drinking coffee or both. I decided to keep an eye on everyone else.
Then we landed, or "went down," if you will. And I spent fifteen minutes of the car ride home silently berating myself for being a paranoid jerk. Then last week there was a shooter at LAX. And I thought about the terminal we'd been sitting in. I thought about wrangling my friendly kid in an airport. I though about trying to keep her close when all she wanted to do was talk to everyone. I thought about how hard it would be to get to her to keep her safe as we stumbled into our shoes just past the security check. I spent some time berating myself for feeling comfortable in our little Norfolk airport--for letting Quinn or Deanna get more than eighteen inches away from me.
Statistically speaking, the ride to daycare, or time in the ocean or pool are far more dangerous to Quinn than flight, airports, terrorists and run of the mill nut jobs combined. Were I a sensible man, this would help me to just relax and take life as it comes. But, I'm a father, so at home or in the airport terminal, I'd say I hover around the same threat level. I'm not sure what color that threat level would be, so I'll just call it threat level DAD.
