UM.

Airlines have been using the acronym for years, divorced parents are painfully familiar with it, and in just the past week there were two alarming media headlines about UMs being delivered to the wrong airports by mistake.

UM stands for Unacompanied Minor. It really hit the mainstream in 2006 with the release of a movie that I believe went straight to video:

My youngest son, who has been traveling as an UM since the tender age of 6, had absolutely no interest in seeing the film. He had come to loathe the term by then and didn't appreciate any attempts at comedy around such an "unfunny" predicament. How could lost UMs stuck in an airport over Christmas be the least bit amusing. His empathy amazed me.  

He used to travel to his Dad's almost every other weekend by plane for a few years in a row and eventually the routine began to take a toll. Normally vibrant and grounded, he began developing odd, short term maladies and bouts of anxiety and nervousness as those travel Fridays approached. 

I voiced my concerns and we began cutting way back on airline travel. In the last year, I am thankful to say, the number of times he has traveled alone by plane can be counted on one hand.

Instead, his Dad and I often drive halfway to meet by car, and his Dad comes up to visit him here frequently too. While things aren't perfect and probably never will be, the situation is much better.

But he assured both of us that he was fine flying down for a visit this weekend.

I just got back from the airport.

It was an early flight, 7:40 a.m., so we basically rolled out of bed and headed straight down without much time to spare this morning. As we hustled into the terminal building we discovered that the check-in line was snaking endlessly around the portable cattle lanes and seemed to be moving at a snail's pace. We had 40 minutes until takeoff and at this rate he wouldn't make the plane.

Then I had a pleasant realization. He's 12 now and has officially outgrown UM status. He's no longer required to the wear the blue plastic boarding pass around his neck. (God he hated that thing!) And technically, I wasn't required to escort him to the gate. That meant I didn't have to fill out the tiresome UM forms, verify my identity and get the special pass which allowed me to see him off.

This is a big deal, I thought to myself. Not just from a timesaving perspective, but as a major milestone in both of our lives. We could print out his boarding pass at the self-serve kiosk, head to the security gate and he could go from there all by himself.

And he assured me he was ok with that.

So this morning, at exactly 7:18 am, I watched my son go through security, collect his belongings, and head down the corridor to Gate B-1. At each stage, he looked back and I waved demonstrably, even called out to him once to have a great flight. He grinned a little but I wasn't quite sure what he was really feeling. Mixed emotions, most likely.

I had asked him to call me when he got to the gate and he did and I told him how proud I was of him and how much I loved him. My voice choked in my throat and tears started to stream down my face and I know he heard the crackle in my voice but that's ok.

I knew he was fine and he knew he was fine too.  After all, he's flown more times in his short life than most people ever do. He's a true pro. He wears his former UM status like an invisible battle scar. He is strong and wise beyond his years. He is a young man getting on a plane to go see his Dad on Father's Day. It's almost too poignant for words.

He called me when he arrived in San Jose and I asked him if he sat next to someone nice and he said, "No, actually it was a pretty empty flight, so I took three seats all to myself and just kind of stretched out. It was cool."

Goodbye UM - hello rest of your life, my dear little man. I love you with all my heart.