I spend a lot of time in airports.

It’s not that I travel that much, although Kathleen and I have certainly gone to some great places together (yeah, Iceland, I’m talking to you), but I do a lot of drop off and pick up duty. We live in Portland and Kathleen’s side of the family resides on the east coast, so there are many trips back and forth. Plus, Stephanie went to school in New York, and now works in D.C., so that doubles the requirements. Luckily, I enjoy airports.

People waiting at airports are generally happy — sometimes VERY happy — to see their friends, family members or partners arrive safely. With all the signs, flowers and rejoicing, there are few places in the world with so much unadulterated happiness crammed into one space. It’s like a vicarious kind of happiness disembarks with every planeload of passengers.

The airport’s carpet is famous in Portland. And all too familiar to me.

Yes, of course, there are the sad, lonely, single travelers and business types who wish someone was waiting for them, but they tend to scurry on through, suitcases in tow, as quickly as possible. That’s good, because it leaves the floor open for the people who have someone waiting — that’s where the real show is. There are often hugs and kisses and happy tears and much sweeping up of people into someone’s arms to twirl them about. I love that show no matter how many times I’ve seen it before.

The other night as I was waiting for Kathleen to return from a conference in Philadelphia which she transitioned into a family visit in D.C., I was treated to a trifecta of airport reunions, all in the space of about ten minutes.

First, the young lovers. To be fair, I didn’t see the actual reunion because I lost sight of the girl before her partner arrived. But the set up was good. A young woman, probably in her early twenties, was waiting at the back of the crowd. As I walked up toward the gate, she was shimmying out of her bra. She contorted her arms behind her back and under her shirt, unsnapped it and slipped it out of the sleeve and into her purse just as I walked by. Our eyes caught for just a second and she smiled, a little embarrassed, but not as much as me. Clearly, she hadn’t seen her lover for a while and was very happy they were about to be together again. I didn’t think I would see a more memorable greeting than that. But I did.

Second, the crazy poodle. As I pressed on past the disrobing woman into the lounge area, I saw an older gentlemen — he looked like a thin Jerry Garcia (Google it; he was in a band called the Grateful Dead) — who smuggled in a large black poodle. The dog was very well-behaved, sitting quietly and biding her time (she had a pink bow in her hair) until the other half of the couple arrived. “There’s your momma,” the man said, and the poodle went ballistic! She threw herself at the end of the leash, doing somersaults, whining and barking and doing that thing dogs do when they get really excited — running as fast they can real low to the ground. But of course, since she was on a leash, she was only able to race in ecstatic circles around the man, spinning him, laughing, like a top. Once the women got close enough, he let go of the leash and the poodle started leaping up into the woman’s arms. She was not a big woman, and the dog was not a small poodle. Everyone within in earshot was laughing and cheering. I didn’t think it could get any better than that, but then it did.

Third, the happy child. After all the dog-induced excitement died down, I returned my attention to the gate, still waiting for Kathleen, only to watch a family push past me. There was a dad and four kids. One of them was a young boy, about six. He had bright eyes and an infectious smile. His dad was pushing him in a little cart because the boy had no hands or feet. The interaction with his dad and siblings, the oldest no more than 13, was precious and protective and loving, which was heartwarming enough, but then his mom walked through the gate. The boy cried out “momma” in a tone that can only be described as pure joy, and held out his arms and legs. She swooped in and scooped him up and he nuzzled into her neck and the dad and siblings crowded around. I don’t think there was a dry eye within 50 yards. I didn’t think it could get better than that, but then it did.

Kathleen came home.

Selfishly speaking, it was the highlight of a stellar night of reunion watching at the airport. She had been gone eleven days and I was glad to have her back. Because the very best part about airports isn’t just watching happy people reunite, it’s seeing the person you’re waiting for come through the gate.

Any good airport stories to share?раскрутка