Last spring I went to visit my parents in Ohio. It had been a long time since I had seen them, though my mom calls me on the phone at least once a month. I had not flown in an airplane in more than twenty years before I flew last spring. And with all the issues that my youngest daughter has experienced over the past eighteen months, I’ve not had even an afternoon off for the longest time. Thus, it was a big surprise when, for my birthday, my wife and children gave me plane tickets to fly to Ohio to visit my parents for a week. It was my middle daughter’s idea: “You haven’t seen your mom and dad in more than five years. You need to see them!”

My initial reaction at the thought of being away from my wife and children for such a long time was stress. How would everyone get along without me? But my wife had scheduled my trip well: it would happen during spring break, so both she and the children would be home.

Any realistic worries I might have were non-existent. But I’ve never been all that fond of travel, though once I get to where I’m going, I usually have a good time. It’s just thinking about the trip that bothers me.

I had about two weeks to prepare mentally for being gone. I also had to get ready and packed for the trip: for instance, I had to acquire a case for my notebook computer and find a carryon bag for my clothing. The airline I’d be taking charged extra for checking luggage—and I didn’t want to pay for that.

My flight was scheduled to leave Los Angeles International Airport (LAX) at 5:45 AM on a Saturday morning. The original plan was simply to arise rather early that morning. But a week before I left for the trip, I’d done my mother-in-law’s taxes for her on her computer. I e-filed them and imagined I was all done. But thanks to a glitch in the program, the IRS kicked the return back. So I was going to have re-send them.

We decided I’d do that on our way to the airport, since my mother-in-law’s house was on the way there. We left my home in Lancaster, California at 11:00 PM for the two hour drive. It didn’t take me long to fix her tax return. In fact, the bulk of my time was simply spent waiting for her tax program to install updates. Soon enough, we were out of there and eating an early breakfast at a nearby diner.

The actual process of airline travel began with my arrival at the airport at 4 AM. Ticketing was easy: I already had an e-ticket on my cellphone, so there was no paper to worry about losing and no line to wait in. I just pulled out my phone and the airline happily scanned it.

However, though I escaped waiting to get a ticket, not all queuing was eliminated. There was still the matter of the security check by the Transportation Safety Administration. This was more time consuming and complicated than I had anticipated. For instance, I discovered that they expected me to undress and unpack all my luggage.

Perhaps a slight exaggeration. But all passengers were required to take off jackets, remove belts, empty their pockets and take off their shoes. Then we had to remove our medications, computers, and tiny containers of shampoo and deodorant from our luggage. We put everything into large plastic bins. While our belongings rode a conveyor belt through an x-ray machine, we passengers were taken through an imposing set of archways. Then, as if we were being arrested, we were told to assume the position: we spread our legs and put our hands up over our heads as our bodies were carefully scanned and examined.

The process is quiet and subdued. No one smiles, hardly anyone talks, but the TSA agents were polite enough. I had plenty of time to repack and get dressed before I had to get on the plane. I wandered down the aisle, stowed my luggage in an overhead bin, and found my seat. I was exhausted, but hopeful. My wife had told me, “You’ll be able to snooze on the plane.”

Not really.

I was in a middle seat, scrunched between a child and an overweight man, with no leg room.

After a four hour sleepless flight, I had to change planes in Detroit. In 50 minutes. It took me thirty just to run from the farthest gate in one terminal to the furthest gate in another, on the opposite side of the runway. Worn out and sweaty, I was the last person aboard: they slammed the doors and headed out within minutes of me plopping into my seat.

Thankfully the return flight did not begin so early in the morning. My layover in Detroit was much longer so I didn’t have to run. I didn’t have to do anyone’s taxes before I went to the airport.

And my parents were very happy to see me.

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