Fear of flying A passenger takes pictures of a Malaysia Airlines plane at the Kuala Lumpur International Airport March 16, 2014. Reuters HANOI, Vietnam – As the world ponders the fate of Malaysia Airlines flight MH370, allow me to share a strange true tale from the annals of American crime. It happened in 1976 in the northern California town of Chowchilla.  A school bus loaded with 26 children and their driver was stopped by three gunmen, who forced their hostages into waiting vans.  The bad guys hid the bus and drove captives to a quarry, forcing them into the cargo hold of a larger truck parked in a ditch and concealed with dirt. Sixteen hours after the abduction, after stacking mattresses left inside the truck, the bus driver and some older students pried open a hatch on the roof. The man’s sketchy memory of license plates enabled police to identify and track down three suspects. All three were sentenced to life in prison. So, can anyone really be faulted for hoping and praying that the mystery of MH370 could have a happy ending? Isn’t it at least plausible that the passengers are not in the bottom of the Indian Ocean but perhaps spirited to one of those countries that ends with “stan,” as the pawns of a diabolical plot? Okay, the odds seem only slightly less fantastic than an abduction by aliens from outer space or a rip in the space-time continuum. And yet, and yet. Hope abides and searches for the plausible. Those of us without a personal connection to MH370 may empathize and ponder the mystery. It is also a reminder that we live in an extraordinary age of air travel. More so than ever, with the advanced technology and the globalized economy, we routinely entrust our lives and the lives of loved ones to these marvelous machines and the skills of flight crews. Our actions demonstrate the faith that our fellow Earthlings boarding these flights are not terrorists, scheming criminals or suicidal pilots who may do us harm. Fear of flying used to be a common, not entirely irrational phobia. Today it is rare and irrational, a bit of trepidation in the tiny black box of the mind. The “road warriors” of business today log millions of miles of air travel over their careers.  The “jetsetters” of yore were considered fabulously wealthy. But now, I’m still a bit nonplussed about how my wife’s career has enabled an expatriate lifestyle in which our family of five takes annual round trips to California and Singapore, plus occasional jaunts within Vietnam and nearby countries, sometimes with discounts via VietJet. The idea is to make the most of expat adventure while we can. Do I worry? Do my hands go clammy as we roar down the runway? No, not any more. I’ve stowed that fear away. Common sense tells me that we were at greater risk just a few years ago back home in California, when the family routine required me to pilot our Toyota minivan on 800-mile round trips between our home and those of our parents. Starting after rush hour, I would fuel up on caffeine and drive deep into the night, often arriving at about 2 a.m. Often I would exceed the posted speed limit, figuring that we were safer if I could shave an hour off the travel time, which would minimize the possibility of fatigue. Statistical evidence suggests we’d have been safer if we had flown – an option we ruled out because of costs. In 2010, U.S. transportation authorities tallied 449 aviation fatalities, including private planes and airliners, compared to 33,561 highway fatalities within the U.S. Meanwhile, for that same year, the International Air Transport Association reported a 42 percent improvement in air traffic safety from a decade earlier. Every day, I also risk my life and limbs guiding my old Yamaha Nuovo in Hanoi’s Darwinian traffic. And yet, and yet. My wife’s work frequently requires travel while the rest of us stay home. And, if the old fear surfaces, I sometimes remember a sad day long ago. I was about 10 or 11 years old when our family received the news that my Aunt Beverly, my mother’s sister, and her husband, Uncle Harold, had been aboard an airliner that crashed in Japan. There were no survivors. For these middle-aged Americans, a successful business owner and his wife, it was supposed to be an exotic dream vacation – just the two of them, without their three teenage children, two boys and a girl.  My wife does most of the flying in our family, mostly for work. She loves to travel and revels in the role as a family travel agent, searching the web for deals and booking our adventures. A few days from now, corporate duties will take her, once more, to the other side of the planet, perfectly routine behavior amid the mystery of MH370. She’ll be flying on two wings and our prayers. Scott Duke Harris