On Going Home

Dear Airline Industry-

I’m flying “home” to meet my now-divorced mom’s boyfriend/fiancé and I’m a nervous wreck.  I’ve looked all over the internet for tips on how children should approach meeting a parent’s new significant other.  So far, all I can find is an episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and how-to guides for parents on making sure introductions go smoothly.  (For the record, my mom has already broken all the rules.) Since the internet has failed me and I can’t track down any armchair psychology that will make me think I have the tools to handle this, I need you to help.

I recognize that for many lucky individuals, going home is a treat.  I used to be one of them.  But when your parents are acting out in ways that make you hope you were switched at birth, there is absolutely no feeling at home about going “home.”  You recognize that your home doesn’t exist anymore, and that’s downright depressing.  Then you realize you’ll have to pretend you’re happy that your mom and her new boyfriend are happy . . . even though it means your life will never be the same and you’re decidedly unhappy about that.  And that makes you apprehensive and anxious, because what if you’re not up to the task?  For anyone has to travel “home” under these (or other) profoundly unpleasant circumstances, I don’t think it’s outrageous to expect the airline industry to make reasonable accommodations.

For those of us who have to use quotation marks every time we use the word “home,” I’m proposing we be assigned Traveler Under Pressure Status.  As a Traveler Under Pressure, I should be able to see a doctor at the airport who will give me a Xanax IV-drip to prepare me for the trip.  TSA should forego the usual man-handling in favor of a bear hug.  (Because really, who doesn’t need a real hug before they are greeted by a family that is no longer familiar?)  I should be allowed to pre-board the plane to minimize my time standing around waiting with seemingly-happy families. Once seated, vodka or whiskey or scotch should be brought to me by a social worker who can guide me through deep-breathing exercises.  Or a hypnotherapist who can convince me that I am going to see someone else’s family so there’s really no reason to be upset.   With Traveler Under Pressure Status, I should be allowed to recline my seat before takeoff because I’m attempting to relax and you’re attempting to help me.  Flight staff should recognize me as a Traveler Under Pressure and all the other passengers should erupt into applause to facilitate my courage.  I should be allowed to get off the plane last so that I can enjoy a few more moments before being confronted with the reality of so much change.  On my way out, the flight crew, social worker and hypnotherapist should express warm wishes and assure me that that I’m fully equipped to make the most of this trip “home.”  (The Xanax and alcohol and deep breathing will have taken effect by then, so I will believe them.)  Finally, with Traveler Under Pressure Status, I should be able to make changes to my return ticket without penalty.  Because you understand what it’s like to go “home,” and you want me to know I always have a way out.

 

I’ve traveled a lot, you know, so I feel like I’ve seen just about everything.  I know you make accommodations for children and for the elderly and for people with assistance animals and for people with oxygen tanks and people who can’t walk. I’ve seen you work around canes and pacemakers and wheelchairs and cross-dressers and pregnant women and drunks.  You accommodate people who lost their ID, who accidentally threw away their boarding pass, who inadvertently boarded the wrong plane or who mistakenly got off before their final destination.  I know you try to be accommodating, so I’m just bringing it to your attention that you’ve neglected a whole class passengers with a profound disability—the inability to go home.

Sincerely,

SEE