The Constant Blogger

Last week Barb and I went to visit friends and family. It was a great visit and perhaps I will talk about that later on, but that is not the point of this post.

Did I ever tell you that I am on a government list that keeps track of me--when I fly and when I change anything with my flight? Did I tell you that at one time I had a beard that reached down to my chest and that an Indian Muslim thought that I was Muslim? Did I ever tell you that? Well, it seems like I've got some 'splain' to do.

A few years ago I grew my beard out and it was long and it was gorgeous. I cared for it with the finest conditioner and stroked it ponderously as I contemplated the deep things of life. It was a source of pride dripping in strands down my face. It also altered my appearance, well, that and my freshly scorn cranium. I looked, shall I say, beautifully different.

During that time Barb and I were in India. We haggled a rickshaw driver down enough for a ride across Delhi. At one point he asked me mover the high scream of his two-stroke engine, "You Muslim?" as he stroked his beard. His face wore a smile and something like hope, hope of meeting an American who believes in Allah. I responded, shaking my head, "Jesu baktah."

After India we visited my family in Mississippi. I was tan (rare occurance) and had the long beard. I was stopped by TSA when they were doing the random searches. I was pulled aside after the first metal detector and then I was pulled aside and searched at the gate when they were searching there also. This happened in multiple airports. After I shaved my beard I have no longer been stopped or pulled aside . . . until yesterday.

So, after I shaved (I think) I had visited my family and we had put our bags into the trunk of my dad's car. When TSA took the bags they swabbed it really nicely and questioned me. They said a ______ substance was found on my bags and that they had to search them. They then wrote my name down in this notebook. Now, if I was in a very playful mood I could talk more about the notebook (was it a notebook that the writer kept close by when he saw someone with striking features, such as my angular face?). So, I hypothesized all the way home, which was longer since my detaining allowed me to miss the flight.

Then it came to me--I bet Dad had bought some fertilizer for the lawn and had laid it in the trunk of the car. I put our bags in the trunk and BOOM!!! the residue made its way onto my bags. I don't think it was residue from my power bars or dried apricots. The ingredients in the fertilizer, which are sometimes used in explosives, set the machine off.

Well, yesterday I made a simple change (actually, Barb and I both made the change) and my ticket was flagged. I suppose it was because my name made it into that notebook. I took my shoes off as usual (what was that guy's name who tried to explode his shoes--I think I might hate him for that inconvenience) and the guy took my ticket and said, "I'm going to need you to step over here with me. Your ticket has an "s" on it here." So, I gather my self, take a look at Barb and smile (she's seen me pulled from line multiple times before). They baton me up and down, left and right. They look through my stuff and say, "You may go." And then I walk down the ramp to my gate sometimes perturbed and sometimes gaily. What are you going to do?

But as I reflect upon what I just wrote and what I've been reading and watching lately I have this to say--there are thousands, perhpas millions of people who have been marched in lines unjustly, have been interogated brutally, and have suffered the most grievious things imagineable as their loved ones watched on helplessly as tears dropped from their eyes and all hope fled. God help them.