The Trouble With Air Shows

Every single day, there are planes whizzing by our house for one reason or another. Occasionally we will see military helicopters, and that sends Zane over the moon. My son loves him some airplanes. As we live about four miles from an Air Force Base, this is a good thing. I myself am ambivalent about flying machines. They are all right in theory, I think. I have zero interest in ever actually flying a plane, however, so I don't really pay attention to what sort of aircraft is buzzing my house.

"Shiny!" I may say to my son.

My husband and I decided that it would be fun to take Zane to the Air Show this weekend. We may have been drinking at the time, at that stage of inebriation where dumb ideas appear very smart indeed. I can't say for sure. But after the morning soccer game, we packed up the car and drove onto the base.

And drove.

And drove.

After we had driven what seemed like ten miles, we were directed toward a large grassy area and told to park. We then walked about a half mile to the first gate. Here we were subject to search by MPs with guns, so we had to wait in line.

"I need to go potty," Zane said.

"You are kidding, right?" my husband said. Luckily, there were some of those porta-potties nearby; we got back in line. Zane was bemused by the wand when they searched him, and found it all very amusing. Larry and I herded him past the gate...where we had to wait for a shuttle. When we finally got to the actual area where the show was happening, it was a relief.



There were tons of planes parked for people to look at, crawl into, take a picture with, etc. I was curious about one plane; it had a sign in front of it printed in red letters so you would know they were serious: "DO NOT TOUCH THIS PLANE OR WE WILL SHOOT YOU." I might be paraphrasing. Planes were also flying around us, so we walked around.

And walked.

And walked.

After about the first three quarters of a mile, Zane did not walk. He demanded to be carried. He threw a fit if we refused. I wanted to just keep walking, and leave the screaming tantrum behind. Larry pointed out that the MPs would make us take Zane back--they had guns. So we picked him up and walked. Then we turned around and walked back the way we came. All told, we walked close to six miles, by my estimations.

Even though I had worn my walking shoes, my feet were killing me. I was limping. I had thoughts of knocking an MP on a Segway down and stealing his ride. The thought of how ridiculous I would look, and the resulting headline, changed my mind. Larry and I were exhausted by the time we straggled back to our car. I hobbled into our house just as the Blue Angels flew over. I don't even know if I will be able to walk tomorrow.

And Zane? He fell asleep while being carted around, and he woke up just as we got to the car. He was ready to go back.