Thailand's National Flower

Thailand's National Flower

Saturday, January 5, 2013

Merry Christmas!

I flew home at Christmas to surprise my daughters and me mum for her 80th birthday. The only one who knew I was coming was Paul, my favorite first son-in-law. We synchronized our watches and vowed to meet up in Seattle. He was arriving from the Arctic by way of Kotzebue and Anchorage. I came by way of Bangkok and Taipei. I arrived ahead of time and checked into an airport hotel. I wanted a hot bath, a stout ale and to go to bed. I got two out of the three. Sleep was not to be had.

I had not seen my girls, Jiorgia and Elizabeth, in over a year, or my middle daughter, Leigh, and my mom, in nearly 8 months. In that time, the first had returned to the arctic, and the youngest had served a stint in Afghanistan. Nor had I clamped eyes on the littlests in our family for more than a year. Eloise Grace had become four and Silas Paul had become two.

In my hotel room, I paced. When I lay down and closed by my eyes, the drone of the plane and the oceanic turbulence resumed. I paced, grateful for the solitude. I took another shower, washed my hair, and read as much of Dostoyevsky as I could take, in between bouts of Solitaire, Bubble Safari, and more pacing.

At 5:00 am the next morning I stood in a snaking holiday line, waiting to check my bag. I made my way through security and removed my boots for the first time in my long trek across the planet. I submitted to the x-ray scanner, my hands up and my thumbs pointed toward my skull. The check point people were friendly, making helpful suggestions for getting through more quickly. They assumed I wouldn't get the drill. They were right, I didn't, though I appreciated the bit of humanity that made the awkwardness less so.

I came through Mumbai recently, on a autumn trip to London, and as I passed through security and immigration I was treated with dismissive contempt, though no one made me take off my shoes. They threw my passport back at me, or they cast it down on the counter and simply walked away, scattering the contents as I scrambled to gather my stuff and figure out where to go next. One guy, seated in a booth behind bullet proof glass, went to the trouble to rip out my reentry permit. He didn't remove it completely, for which I am grateful. It cost me 3,800 baht and it would've cost me much more to pay to re-enter Thailand without it. I could say nothing though my eyes flashed at the obvious discourtesy. He came close to breaking the law. Who would've stopped him?

The disgust for America and Americans is often taken out on innocent travelers. There are welcoming exceptions, of course. I have been greeted brightly by security people, who have asked about my teaching profession and have waived me through without incident. I have been seen by some as a help to the children of their country and not a predator. However those times of shared humanity are rare. As a 57-year-old American woman, I am, apparently, ample evidence of what's wrong with the superpower, and not just some weary traveler trying to get home to my family.

Paul motored through the weather uncertainties of the arctic and made his sudden appearance at our boarding gate in Seattle. I was getting a little worried. "Well," I thought, "I'll have to finagle another ride home from the airport." Paul travels for his work, so he's a frequent flyer and was seated at the front of the plane. We lesser passengers were nearly made to stand at the position of attention when he stepped aboard. Just shy of the rank of the Captain of the plane, the MVPs take their exalted places at the front. As a less frequent flyer and a mere mortal, I was pointed toward row 10, window seat. The flight attendants were perfunctory though pleasant. The flight is not long. Frankly, I cared less where they put me so long as I was aboard. I strained at the windows. Landing was best.

When we deplaned, Paul faded back into the crowd. I emerged alone through the security gate and there stood Jiorgia with her two littlests, awaiting her husband. She wasn't expecting her mother. She glanced at me and then glanced again. A shocked recognition came across her beautiful face. She promptly burst into tears. The hug was well worth the hours in flight, the sweaty airport security checkpoints, the pacing and the fatigue that comes with crossing datelines. As we hugged and shed our tears, I heard behind me the happy noises of holiday recognition. We all know the sweetness of homecoming, made even sweeter by the miles and days of separation.

As I knelt to hug the shy ones still clinging to their mother's legs, Paul walked up. "Look Paul, my mom is here!" We grinned. Mission accomplished!

Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!

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