Observation/Flying

                I saw something pretty sad today. My dad, my sister, and I were at the airport on the way to Florida to see our grandmother, and we were waiting in line to go through security. I noticed a young man, probably in his early- to mid-thirties carrying an eight- to ten- month-old (or at least old enough to sit up but not to walk on her own just yet, if that gives you an idea) in line in front of us. They registered briefly in my mind as “Aw, sweet—a little girl and her daddy,” before dropping off my radar. We continued in line, and they were a good bit ahead of us. I noticed them again when I heard the little girl start to cry.

                She was sitting on the airport floor, crying and reaching up to her father as he placed his several bags and pair of shoes in two bins. It took him a good two or three minutes to do this and get his jacket off and get everything moving on the conveyer belt. All the while, this tiny, vulnerable baby sat on the floor and begged to be picked up. People shuffled by her without even looking, their legs like wrecking balls coming as they came too close, and I worried someone might step on her or knock her over. A part of me wanted to walk over and offer to hold her, but I hadn’t gotten past the ticket lady yet. All I could do was watch this distressed child as the father smiled down at her and assured her he was almost ready to pick her up again.  The only thing I could think was, That poor kid. Where’s her mother?

                I’m not going to assume that the guy was a single dad. I know nothing about him, and I’m not saying he’s a horrible parent for putting his baby on the floor (after all, he didn’t have many other options). If he wasn’t, then he was symbolic of a single parent. It made me sad for those in the same condition as the little girl—with only one set of arms to hold her, with only half a net to catch her when she falls. It also made me thankful that even after all the stuff that’s come up in my family since the summer, my parents are still together for our sakes.

                I’ve also made a personal vow never to put my baby on the floor in the middle of airport security. But that’s just personal preference.

                Anyways, that’s my spiel. We were on one of those tiny, claustrophobic planes that you feel more likely to die in. And we have this curse where we always end up sitting over the wings and the engine. Still, it’s worth it to see the sky become three dimensional, to soar among the rolling seas and thunderous mountains of clouds, to be at eye level with the sunset, and to see the web of sparkling lights amidst the black earth below. I love flying.

Ciao