Damn! Your first international trip to a beautiful vacation destination pregnant with violent revolution, and you left just as the water broke. How frustrating you missed all the excitement and have only tourist tales to regale your young'uns with by the fireside of an evening. Still, you could lie and entertain them with tales of dashing terrorists and derring do.

I'm glad you're home, safe and sound.

Thanks!

Edit:

"I approached with my best slave self on
"I shuffled submissively forward and did as I was told with all the others
"Children were commanded to be quiet
"Papers were clutched in hands
"I assumed the surrender position while they irradiated me.
"My belongings were searched on a belt beside me.
"Finally, I awkwardly stopped to have my very visage scanned and analyzed
"All to verify that I was not a person up to no good"

The last time I flew I remember something twisting inside as I watched my sons being gingerly tapped by a wand with some kind of cloth patch clamped to the end, looking to detect explosives residues, I surmised. An urgent rage surged in me and I could feel my mind retreating before it as I began to visualize attacking and slaughtering the indolent, insolent TSA lackeys, and then it was over and we proceeded to the gate.

I have never flown again.

I used to love flying. I loved the momentary zero G as little puddle jumpers bobbed in the turbulent currents above Southeast Alaska, and the first time I flew in a 727 at eight I almost passed out from sheer joy as we accelerated to liftoff, going faster than I had ever gone before, thrilling at the view of the speed we were making out the window.

I will never fly again, unless I'm driving and no morons in monkey suits are tempting me to rip them limb from limb by molesting my children with bomb sniffing wands.