Customs Inspection

After an overnight flight to meet my father at his latest military assignment, my mother wearily arrived an Rhein-Main Air Base in Germany with my eight siblings and me – all under age 11.  Collecting our many suitcases, the ten of us entered the cramped customs area.

A young customs official watched our entourage in disbelief, "Ma'am," he said, "do all these children and this luggage belone to you?"

"Yes, sir," my mother said with a sign.  "They're all mine."

The customs agent began his interrogation:  "Ma'am, do you have any weapons, contraband or illegal drugs in your possession?"

"Sir," she calmly answered, "if I'd had any of those items, I woiuld have used them by now."

The official allowed us to pass without opening a single suitcase.