My Foro flies over the Ocean

I’m often afraid of flying with Foro. He’s become too ‘important’? This trip is going to involve a lot of sitting around, though, and I think I’m likely to be pretty sad for some of it. He’ll be there to cheer me up.

I’m flying to see my parents, and my father is ill, so it’s not like ‘Wow, great! I’m going on vacation!’

It is true, however, that I liked flying back in the 70’s. It meant going to see my Dad, and leaving the chaos of my Mom and step-dad’s life. I was a young traveler, so someone escorted me through transfers, if there were any. This was back in the days that you could be walked to the gate. (Did anyone walk me to the gate?)

Flying used to mean I was going to go see someone who cared about me, as best he could. My Dad was of a generation that it was supposed to be enough if a man was a ‘provider’. That was one of the reasons for my parent’s divorce, I suppose. My mother was doing the ‘I am woman; hear me roar’ thing. That’s all fine. (Marrying a guy who abused her daughters should have been a no starter, however. That’s a whole other ball of wax.)

My dad was kind but clueless. I have curly hair, and he thought if I brushed it, the curls would go away. (They just get frizzy.) He also tried to wash a tan off my arms. I mean, like I said: kind but clueless.

So I’m waiting in the airport, for the first of two flights. Foro is in my bag, and he’s going to have to pop his head out for a photo op.

Today flying is mostly about stressed out people being herded around. So flying with a stuffed cow is pretty appropriate!