And then, it was time for one more trek through our now very familiar neighborhood, down to the Eastern Market Metro and out to Reagan National for our flight back to Wichita. This time, getting our boarding passes was a piece of cake. No questions, we were in their system and we even had seats in the same vicinity as one another on both legs of the flight. Progress indeed!
Clearing this obstacle, we headed for the security line.
Now, you must know that when the Hicks' travel, Ross and I each get a travel buddy. Sam and Ross usually pair up which leave me with Isaac. This system -- devised while hiking steep canyon and mountain trails -- has worked, so far, pretty well. Sam and Ross are quiet, calm, take things slow and like to travel on the "down low." Isaac and I, well, let's just say we are not thrown by unnecessary attention. We have learned through the years that we all have a much better time if we separate into these groups during times of potential stress.
So, we queued up to the security line in this paired up fashion. We were split into separate lines by the guy checking boarding passes and Isaac went in front of me. I was very proud of him. He had his liquids at the ready, shoes off and electronics in the gray tub well ahead of reaching the actual scanner. I followed behind and got my stuff ready to go through. We both zipped effortlessly through the metal detector and started waiting for our stuff to come out on the other side.
I watched Isaac's shoes and electronics come out and pushed them down to the end of the table where he promptly began reassembling himself for the flight. I was watching him proudly while waiting patiently for my stuff when I realized that about 30 seconds had gone by and nothing else was coming down the conveyer belt.
I turned to see what was going on and noticed a small group of about 5 security officers all gathered around the screen in our line. The short, younger girl in the middle would look at the screen, then look up at me, then look back to the screen.
And then, in a sudden flash of memory, it hit me. "Here we go," I said under my breath to myself.
In a few moments, Isaac's bag finally came out of the conveyer belt and was immediately picked up by the security personnel. "Who's bag is this?" she asked me.
"His." I pointed at Isaac.
She nodded and looked at Isaac. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me," she said. I looked at my nine-year-old son. His eyes were quite possibly the biggest that I have seen them.
"Can we wait for just a moment for my stuff to come through so I can go with you?" I asked.
"Certainly," she said -- she was no George Washington, but immediate relief registered on Isaac's face.
I got my stuff, reassembled myself and headed with Isaac to the little side area where they pat people down and search their luggage.
"Is there anything in here that will hurt or cut me?" the young security officer asked Isaac.
"No, ma'am," he said immediately. (I was proud of him for using his polite words.)
"Tell her what IS in there, Isaac," I said calmly.
And he proceeded to tell her, at length, about his really cool comb that he got at the spy museum that looks exactly like a switchblade.
Sure enough, they found the comb -- he had the good sense to pack it on the outside pocket so they didn't have to go digging around in the inside of the bag. They pulled it out gingerly and proceeded to attempt to open it up. At this point, Isaac had to help because they couldn't figure it out right away. And, fortunately for us ALL, they realized very quickly that it was exactly what Isaac had said it was.
But, they still confiscated it.
They graciously offered to let us go back and check it in checked luggage (which we did not have). If I had been on my game I could have asked Isaac at that moment if if wanted us to figure out how to mail it home. But, what can I say. I was tired.
I did tell them that Isaac had been warned this might happen and was prepared to relinquish the comb. (Yes, I used the word relinquish so that the security folks could see that they were dealing with an educated person.) And, he did let them take the comb with an amazing display of maturity. No tears. Just very, very, very big eyes and a face which was by this time devoid of color.
I, of course, had also looked over to see what Ross and Sam were during through all this. Sam was standing slack jawed and Ross had a look on his face that said, "Thank you GOD that it wasn't me." Yep. The travel buddy system never fails. To everyone's credit, we left the line without another word, got some snacks and made for an empty seat by the gate to wait for our plane. The incident was never mentioned again for the remainder of the trip.
I think, if Isaac would have cried, we might have gotten the comb back. As we were walking away, I heard the security officer ask her supervisor, "Can't we just give it to him?" But, rest assured that the security personnel at Reagan in Washinton DC are nothing but consistent in the name of safety. So, the infamous comb did not make it with us back to Kansas.
The rest of the trip was uneventful and we made it back to Kansas in time to do a little unpacking and fall in bed. Another memorable time. Another great trip. But I must say that I'm glad to be back home.
We owe a debt of gratitude to the many people who contributed to the planning of this vacation. Jeannette and the folks in Senator Moran's office - couldn't have done it without you. Beth, Connie and Justin and anyone else at NASFAA who helped, thanks for all of your good ideas. Thanks to Joe, Sandy and Hudson for making our apartment a home away from home. And thanks also to most everyone I have come into contact with in the last year who offered suggestions and ideas.