The sacrifices we make

"Do you offer upgrades to passengers when it's their birthday," I casually asked the Air Canada check-in agent, yesterday.

The agent asked my four-year old son if it was his birthday. "No, it's Daddy's birthday!"

Right son, and your hardworking Daddy deserves to be sitting up front.



"Oh, I wish I could do that...but," was all the agent could offer up.

As we unloaded the 16 pack mules that we had brought to the airport to carry our bags, the agent looked at me and exclaimed, "you're the transplant guy!"

Transplant Guy? Hmmm...I think there must be some super hero potential there. "Have no fear...Transplant Guy is here!"

I didn't tell her that what I really wanted was for me and my brood to be transplanted from economy to business class.

While it would probably make for a better story if I told you that random people always called me Transplant Guy, turns out the agent had a kidney transplant about 15 years ago, and knows me from my work.

"As for that question you asked me at the beginning, I'll see what I can do," she said, as she finished tagging our bags and handed our boarding passes back to us.

As he always does, Jack wanted to stop at the children's play area before heading to our gate. He soon latched on to a girl, about a year or two older than him. After chasing her around the play set, he ran over to me and said he had a girlfriend to play with. We told him that he should ask for her name, but he kept calling her, girlfriend. Even when he went to the bathroom, he announced to everyone with ears in the US departures area, "I'll be back girlfriend, I'm just going to the bathroom!"

We strolled over to the gate around the time boarding was to supposed to commence, but we found out that most of the passengers were already on board. "Mr. Don-a-ho," the gate agent said. "We had a call about an upgrade, and we have one seat available in business class for you."

Oh no, not one seat, I thought to myself. Here was an opportunity for an upgrade and my family was cramping my style. But really, how could I sit (or should I say lie) up front in a nice, comfortable lie flat seat, when Carrie and the kids were slumming it in the back.

I could hear these words in mind: Mr. Donohue, would you like some champagne? What about some brandy after dessert?

In the end, I proffered a kind thank you, declined the offer, and followed my family to row 29, where they keep the cattle. Next to us was a petulant toddler screaming his face off for reasons unknown to everyone, including his poor mother who tried to hold this writhing kid.

Ah, the sacrifices I make for family harmony, I thought, as the devil kid next to us stared at me between his temper tantrums.