This is a sentimental reflection on a very nice weekend trip for an annual event in Rochester, NY. I flew to this event last year, but this year I drove there from Baltimore, MD because I am unwilling to submit to the TSA's sexual abuse.

While I was in Rochester, I attended a wonderful backyard barbecue, complete with about forty friends grilling food on the vegetarian or non-vegetarian sides of the grill. Others were playing their guitars, ukeleles, flutes, and melodicas while singing some old-timey tunes. A group of us decided to take advantage of the small above-ground pool and we had a great time splashing around.

After I got out of the pool, I needed to change from my swimsuit into some dry clothes. One of my friends, a sweet man about twenty years my senior, offered me his room in the house as a changing space since others were using the available bathrooms. Because that door didn't lock, he stood in the hallway and I heard him deflect a person or two from wandering in while I was changing clothes. I thanked him, of course, but I got tears in my eyes as I reflected on the moment later.

This, just this. This is what it used to mean to protect someone. It used to be that when you cared for someone's safety, you kept encroachers away from their vulnerableness. This man guarded my privacy because he cares about me. This is what protecting people is truly about.

The TSA doesn't care about us. The TSA is doing the opposite of what we used to mean by protecting someone. They call it safety, but they are shoving their hands down our pants. They call it protecting us, but they humiliate us by examining every inch of our naked bodies. They call it secure, but they order strangers' hands to wander all over the parts of our bodies we gave or will give to our spouses. I weep for this. Please don't mock my sentimentality. The tradition of caring for others by protecting their bodies is very important to me, and I am terrified that it will be gone forever.