Happy Valentine’s Day! My husband and I are traveling with my parents this week so they can visit my father’s BFF in Florida. My father is 87 and his BFF is almost 90. On the way to the airport my parents reminisced about the olden golden days of flying. American Airlines served so much brisket that my parents called them “Pot Roast Air.”

“We didn’t know how good we had it,” my mother said.

The same could be said about anyone who has lost someone unexpectedly. My husband’s father passed away last month, and so the opportunity to travel with my parents is all the more worthwhile. It also comes with unique challenges.

At the airport, we ended up in two different security lines. My father and I went through the TSA precheck line. I had to stop him from disrobing. My mother and my husband went through standard security. Believing she was going through TSA precheck, she did not remove her shoes, and walked through the X-ray area. On the other side, the TSA agent told her she should’ve removed her shoes. So she did.

“No,“ said the TSA agent. "Go back and put your shoes in a tray and come through again."

She is very compliant and did as she was told.

But the TSA agent on the other side hollered at her. “Don’t put your shoes in the tray! Put them on the conveyor belt!”

A little more rattled but still very compliant, my mother did as she was told.

She joined my husband, whose bag was being searched. They handed it back to him and my mother told him, “My suitcase hasn’t come through.”

They stood there waiting. And waiting.

Meanwhile my father and I cleared security and waited at the discombobulation area. After a few minutes, a TSA agent from our line came up to my father and asked him if he had left his iPhone behind. He held out a tray containing an ointment tube, some loose change, and a black iPhone.

My father patted himself down. No iPhone on him so he reached into the tray and took the phone. The screensaver came on. It was Starry Night by Van Gogh.

“Is that your screensaver?” I asked my father.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but that’s not my ointment prescription.”

As he handed everything back to the agent, he said, “I’ll buy all of it for two dollars.”

“Five bucks and it’s yours,” said the agent.

They had a good laugh and the TSA agent walked away.

“I think your mother has my phone,” said my father.

We couldn’t ask my mother because she and my husband were still waiting on her bag.

At some point, as the TSA agents searched the area for my mother’s bag, she remembered. She’d checked it.

We all reunited and assessed our walk to the gate, and that was when I saw a dropbox labeled “Cannabis Amnesty Box.” I’ve got small hands. Could I discreetly reach in and grab a little something to relax me for this journey?

Top photo by Ken Lam via Unsplash.