Frustration, irritation, caution, suspicion, worry; a slew of emotions could describe the day before Thanksgiving not two weeks ago. Were this one year ago, the only real adjective to describe the day before the megaholiday season starts would have been anticipation. Personally, I was irritated, but airports have that certain effect on me. I wasn’t expecting anything but waits when I flew home for Thanksgiving, but I got much more. As an added bonus to traveling, I also got the opportunity to gauge the pulse of the nation through the everyday citizen doing everyday things.

Four lines awaited anyone flying out of Ontario International Airport that day, and I assume it was much worse at Los Angeles International. This Disneyland like scenario consisted of: one line at the ticket counter, one at the escalator, one at security where even your wallet went through the x-ray scanner, and one to get on the airplane. All of the lines required a photo identification and patience, and I certainly lacked the latter. No one else seemed to mind however, save the few who only arrived an hour and a half early for their flight, and they minded only because they might miss their flight on such a full day. The entire airport was agreeable, even security staff and ticket counter crew, who usually carry unpleasant dispositions. Slowly, I began to realize that there was indeed a real war going on, that most people wholly supported it–I realized that most people still lived in fear after the devastating terrorists attacks. Having been wrapped in a world where some of the most important issues that Pomona’s senate has addressed is which dryers to fix or what requirement to add, I think we had all lost some perspective. The dryers made us rife with grief when they needed an entire fifty-cents to dry clothing, meanwhile there was the rest of the country afraid to open their own mail.

The actual flight bought more pleasant surprises. Having finally put my driver’s license away, I sat down in my one-foot by one-foot square and tried to doze off over the din of small talk and whirring of the engines. To my unpleasant surprise, the row behind me was alive with talk. While people who do nothing but shoot the breeze loudly in the seats behind me usually anger me, that day their blasé conversation about where they worked and where they were going was incredibly interesting. In fact, the entire plane was a live with idle chat as passengers reassured themselves that it was alright to travel by air, and that their fellow sojourners were just as nervous as they are. It was the loudest airplane ride I have ever taken. Easily the most common phrase I heard was "this is the first time I’ve flown since…" and a variety of phrases would follow describing or referring to the attacks on the East Coast. The next few key phrases almost inevitably involved "Osama bin Laden," "Afghanistan," or "World Trade Center," a place which, in my mind, had never truly been a national icon until a few months ago. Although awkward, it was almost cute the way people talked about anything little or important just to take their minds of their fear. Other than the slight, and understood, paranoia, the flight was as normal as could be.

Back home, things had changes just as much as things were the same. American flags are much more common in Louisiana than they are here. Combine this with an abundance of pick-up trucks and guns, and it was quite a patriotic Thanksgiving. Wrapped up in the spirit, I even fired a gun for the first time in a while. It was a World War I Remington bolt-action 1903 rifle, the same kind the American Army carried. It made quite a patriotic bang. My grandfather declared it open season on any "Taliban" we found in the woods. We didn’t find any; I’m not sure if this was reassuring or a let down. Another observation: prayers before dinner seemed much more common in every house I went into. There was an unspoken reverence and genuine thanks for being with family and friends. One of my best friends from high school suddenly started keeping in better touch with me than ever before, and we even managed to get together over the all-too-short break. After a football game, we talked the night away over a local brew. The time with him was more rewarding for the same subconscious reason that everyone felt compelled to talk on the airplane.

When Sunday rolled around, I reluctantly woke up to get to colossal Baton Rouge Metropolitan Airport two entire hours early. The only line I stood in was there because no one was at the ticket counter to check us in. Only one person talked to me, and he was a college student like myself, so I have a feeling that our shared comradery would have led to chat anyway. The gate attendants were rude. People grumbled from position to position; counter to security, security to gate; gate to plane. The flight was comparatively quiet compared to my last one. When I transferred flights, my layover was the usual rush from place to place affair. Cart drivers chided me for being in the way of the expedient elderly, passengers argued about frequent-flier upgrades, and I could sleep the entire way home to the whisper of jet engines. Even my baggage was late and mishandled.

After all of the change the nation had experienced, Thanksgiving was just what it needed. The usually extraordinary Thanksgiving, a holiday which people look forward too for food, family and football, had come and gone as expected. The country went through a normal day as an entire people. As individuals, most people have reconciled their feelings about living in a nation that had been assaulted, but the culture was still in shock. While many days have come and gone since that day in September, America still had not returned to any bit of new or old normalcy. Many people in the airports said that they were scared, but that they would still fly to see family. Thanksgiving was all too important for any terrorists to take away.