After an overnight flight to meet my father
at
his latest military assignment, my mother wearily arrived at
Rhein-Main
Air Base in Germany with my eight siblings and me — all
under age 11.
Collecting our many suitcases, the ten of us entered the
cramped
customs area. A young customs official watched our
entourage in disbelief,
“Ma’am,“ he said, “do all these children
and this luggage
belong to you?“
“Yes, sir,“ my
mother said with a sigh, “they’re all
mine.“
The
customs agent began his interrogation: “Ma’am, do you have any
weapons, contraband or illegal drugs in your possession?“
“Sir,“ she calmly answered, “if I’d had any of those items, I
would have used them by now.“
