While waiting to board my recent flight, I sat amazed by the number of passenger classifications who were welcomed onto the plane before me. By the time they got to calling the Basic Economy group, I got a sense of what the Steerage class must have felt like on the “Titanic”. “Sapphire Perks Members! Come on down! May we rub special lotion on your dry, back skin?” “Knights of Serbia, enter!” called the flight crew in unison, holding up the heart-sign with their hands. “Emotional support animals? COME!” “Bueller?” The airline kisses up to its elite customers, thanking them way too many times for flying with them. I watched a flight attendant divide the entrance way into 2 separate lanes, so that the special passengers could walk down a special path and not co-mingle with a line meant only for substandard customers. Was the carpet puffier on that side of the room? I’ll never know. “Who wants to sit on the plane longer than you have to?” I reasoned.
I always knew I was different. Thanks to my brother’s research on Ancestry.com, I know why. Springing from closets, slithering out of old books and pictures, arising from graveyards across the 7 seas, my relatives have been creeping their way into my life. I’m fascinated— and terrified . I can be really clumsy. Could that be a gift I inherited from great-grand pappy “Trips in Front of a Train?” How about my crooked lower incisors? Yarns have been spun about Great Aunt Mill’s oral self-care. So objectionable were her rotten teeth, she pulled them out herself with a pair of pliers. I’ve always had untamable eyebrows. It makes perfect sense now that I’ve met Uncle Canis lupin. Of course the odd ones stand out. My grandma once told me about her Aunt Amelia who was nervous and fuzzy. Today I would have asked her a LOT of questions, but as a youngster, I just sat mute. I have ever since been hyper-vigilant for signs of either trait. I wonder what they would think of m