Oliver and I flew to Maine to visit my mother. He loved rolling his suitcase through the airport and watching his car seat being thrown into the belly of our plane and now wants to go on a flight every day.
At security, I was asked to show my ID and our boarding passes twice, take off my shoes, and forfeit a dangerous-looking bottle of grape juice. Confronted with Oliver, our TSA guard didn't seem to know what to do. "Do you have a picture of the boy?" I showed him a photo from two years ago when Oliver was two. "Does he have any ID?" He did not. "Hey," the guard said to him, "is your name Oliver?"
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