The Rescue

When my daughters were little, and when they were teenagers, I told them, I promised them, that no matter what, if they needed me to come get them and bring them home, from little girl sleepovers or beer-pong parties I would be there for them always.

Well they aren’t little anymore and they have outgrown beer-pong but the need for the ride home with no questions asked is still on the parent's list of promises.

I had to rescue one of my kids last week. It was not from a simple sleep-over or a game but from a third world country where, she never should have gone, but went anyway.

This is a young intuitive woman who exhibits a very sensible gut-sense. Her perceptive qualities are amazing. She did not want to go but went because she believed she had to. Once there she felt trapped in a very dangerous anti-government situation. She called within hours of her arrival.

“Mom, I want to come home,” she said, “I do not feel safe.”

Twelve hours later she flew out. When the wheels of the plane touched American tarmac she cried.

With $452.63 charged on my Visa, I rescued her. There was no greater feeling when she walked through the door than to know she was home and that I, and my credit line, had a hand in her safety. It's a good thing I didn't have to fly to where she was, because my never-renewed passport is forty years old.