I might be a rube.

Dear Son,
Akron doesn't have a subway. There's Amtrak, but I never went anywhere as a kid to need Amtrak for any reason. Cleveland, the nearest "big" city has a train and I've been on it twice. Both times I rode from the Federal Building downtown to the airport about 25 miles away. Both times I was flying for the Army.

I guess I was born a rube. Until I joined the military, the only time I'd ever been on an airplane was for a school field trip. As a sixth grader I flew from Akron-Canton airport to the Cleveland airport for $15. It was a short flight considering the two cities are only 40 or so miles from each other. They gave us free plastic pilot's wings which I wore to school proudly pinned to my shirt the next day. I'm surprised someone didn't beat me up for my lunch money.

Back in those days it was possible for friends, parents and loved ones to accompany you right to the terminal. That was pretty cool. There was also an observation deck where you could go and actually watch planes take off. You would accompany your friend, relative or loved one to the gate, give them a goodbye kiss, hug or handshake, watch them board the plane, wave to them through the big plate glass window as they peered out behind that tiny hole in the side of the plane, and then run like hell up the stairs and to the end of the observation deck to try to figure out which speck on the runway was theirs as planes leapt into the air.

I have rather fond memories of the Akron Canton Airport. In addition to riding on my first airplane, I said goodbye to my grandmother as she left for far-off exotic Hawaii (or Ha-why-ya, as my southern born mumbling grandfather used to say). Another time one of my California cousins spent the summer with my family. When she left, it was pretty sad. Me, in my 13-year-old awkwardness was afraid to hug her (yuck, hug a girl?), so she cried as she waved goodbye from behind the plane's window and I cried as I waved from the end of the observation deck.

It wasn't until the Army that I really started flying regularly. In 1986 it was still possible to sit in the back of the plane, open an ashtray and smoke until your lungs turned black and burned away. Being 18 and invincible and on my way to basic training to fight the Cold War, I proudly sat in the smoking section telling dirty jokes and making fun of the other passengers, pretending to be a real jetsetter on my way to Fort Knox and my own private hell.

It was three years before I flew again. I was on my way to Fort Dix, New Jersey. From there, Fort Devens, Massachusetts. From Fort Devens, I figured the train schedule out of necessity because I didn't have a car. After the train came the subway and I became a master at navigating Boston by rail, especially since it was free to ride with a military ID. Of course, the close-cropped haircut was a pretty clear indication that I was a rube and was from one of the many local military bases-those two things combined made me a prime target for panhandlers and hustlers.

I've also ridden the New York subway. Once from lower Manhattan to Central Park and back and the other time after a Zero show at the Wetlands at three in the morning. We stayed in a dive on the Jersey side of some river. It was a real seedy place with drug deals going down in the parking lot, prostitutes coming and going and bars on all of the outside windows. The train ran from Jersey to the WTC and after the show we stumbled several blocks back to the station using the looming towers as guide markers to our departure back to the Garden State. I might have been born a rube, but by this time I'd grown, flowered, developed into a sophisticated traveler. Once, in Chicago, your mother and I (along with six other peopel) actually hailed a cab and paid someone to drive us to our destination. Boy that sure was something, and you know what? I'm not afraid to take a taxi anywhere now. What a liberating feeling!

Despite my lack of a cosmopolitan upbringing, those years in the Army helped develop an increased sense of direction (a superior sense of direction, I like to tell your mom, along with a superior sense of navigation, and a superior sense of humor-you get the point). This usually works well for me in new cities as well as the woods, but underground is a different matter altogether. It's easy to get lost in a new town, on a new subway while dragging your luggage to the airport during rush hour. I found this out in DC. How do you get a fare card? Which line takes me closest to my destination? How do I make the connections? Two different lines run through the same station? Oh, I didn't know that.

It's a real bummer when you get on the green train and you are supposed to be on the yellow train. It really sucks because you have to drag all of your crap from one platform, up the escalator, across a small bridge, and down another escalator to the other side, wait for green train to take you back to the yellow train, cross over the bridge again, and then make sure you don't get back on the green train before the yellow train comes. Obviously everyone else is in a hurry to get home, so some rube from the country, standing in the way looking dumbfounded at the subway map trying to figure out which train to take, which direction it is going and which side of the platform you should be on is truly obnoxious.

That little misadventure aside, though, I made it to the airport intact and with plenty of time to take my shoes off, empty my pockets, pull out my laptop and be searched by security before making my way to the gate. Now people say their goodbyes before entering the security line. Travelers are sent off and greeted no longer by their families at the door to the airplane, but near the metal detectors, wands, x-ray machines and armed guards. Friends, families and loved ones stand at the window and try to watch the planes take off, but it isn't the same. It's nothing like the observation deck anymore. When you fly now, you fly alone and it is harder and harder to remember what that one last hug from your mom or wife or friend or brother feels like before you get on the plane. I feel mostly safe flying these days, but some of the glamour and excitement has been removed. Now, I'm just really happy to be on the ground and driving back to the country, away from the city.

Love,
Dad