The Homeland Security officer walked softly across the shiny tile floor and stood next to me. He crossed his arms and said, “We’ve approached a second level security threat with your items. It will be awhile before you are free to go.”
My children were told to stay aside as the agents began ripping apart everything I’d packed. It seems Addison’s coconut water - his favorite drink - was the problem. The bottle sat next to the testing machine, drips of sweat beading down the plastic sides.
Traveling with a special needs child is more than special all by itself. All those extra things I do at home to be sure he doesn’t choke; gets enough nutrition; is happy; dry; and safe still has to happen in the airport and down the runway. I usually carry about two to four bottles of agua de pipa with me where ever I go. On a journey where we’d take a car, train, and a two planes, I had enough for what seemed an army.
For this trip, I’d decided to order a wheelchair. Addison can walk fine, yet long distances are more than he can handle. And, since the airline destroyed my last stroller, why risk it? The trip from Costa Rica to Minnesota was a pretty uneventful trip with only the usual tantrums, hair pulling, and leaky diapers to deal with. We arrived at our destination tired, but safe and somewhat sound. On the way home, it was a much different story.
“We have to x ray every thing,” the Homeland Security officer said. What was I going to say: No way! Give me my stuff and let me get to my plane!
“O.K.” I said. I picked up Addison and hugged held him for awhile.
After the x-ray procedure was finished, we were free to go. The officer apologized for the delay.
“You can repack your things now. Except that bottle over there,” he said pointing to the sweating coconut water, “that has to stay.”
Everything, once so neatly packed, lay on metal tables looking so sterile. My daughter ran to grab her bunny and I began stuffing everything back in, hoping it would fit again. We toddled off and managed to catch our plane on time.
Since the day had started with a national security threat, I figured we’d been through the worst of it. Never think that, (if I may so boldy give a bit of advise). In the next few hours: We got yelled at by a the airport check-in lady when I tried to bring a special piece of medical equipment for Addison on the plane. (I tried to explain I’d gone personally to the airline twice before leaving and they assured me they would allow it, which did happen on the way to the United States.) We missed our connection; I lost our wheelchair service along the way; we didn’t make stand-by; I spilled a cup of coffee on all my clothes; I left my passport and money on a chair where I’d spilled my coffee (it was turned in at a desk!); and about 82 other things that are just annoying to mention here, including watching way too much Barney.
As I stood in front of yet another airline clerck at a check-in desk. I was surprised I wasn’t fighting back tears. I faced paying for a hotel that just wasn’t in the budget and felt sort of weirdly O.K. with it all. All this time, even way back at the beginning when we were a threat to the national security of the United States, I knew there were reasons I would never know I shouldn’t be on the plane I was supposed to be on. In the hours at airport, we managed to laugh through the spills and had a strangely good time. After I got my boarding pass for the flight the next day, I sat down to catch my breath. Addison slept hunched over on a SmartCart. The airline clerk walked over to me and sat down.
“Here is a voucher for the hotel tonight,” she said. “And for dinner and breakfast.” For the first time all day, I began to cry. I couldn’t thank her enough.
We slept well and made it home the next day, finally able to sleep in our own beds, safe and sound from any threats.
