Poised for flight
When I was a kid, it sometimes seemed like the only place my brother and I really got along was O'Hare Airport. This makes it sound like we were the jet-setting children of a long-distance divorce or something; rather, we were fortunate enough to take quite a few vacations growing up that involved air travel.
Once we had arrived at the gate and checked in (remember how you used to be able to do it in that order?), we would find some pretense to ditch our parents--bathroom, snacks, something to read on the plane--and head off. We hit the "people movers" at a half-walk, half-jog and hopped off at the "moving walkway is ending" message. We browsed in gift shops and strolled through food courts. We felt very important and adult.
When my brother was in high school (again, pre-9/11), he and his friends used to drive to O'Hare, just to hang out. Let's face it, a group of suburban teenagers was pretty much destined to end up at a fast-food restaurant anyway; might as well make it one with good people-watching and a little glamour.
He and I get along much better now that we're adults, and we haven't traveled together in years. We had lunch on Monday, the day before he set off on the first of the three-day-a-week trips he'll be taking to Atlanta every week between now and the big move in mid-July. He's going to be spending a lot of time at O'Hare.
With air travel being what it is now, I haven't enjoyed my time at an airport in as long as I can remember. But knowing that our time together is going to be so much more limited, I find myself wishing I could drive out there with him some Tuesday morning for a ride on the people movers and a McDonald's apple pie.
Once we had arrived at the gate and checked in (remember how you used to be able to do it in that order?), we would find some pretense to ditch our parents--bathroom, snacks, something to read on the plane--and head off. We hit the "people movers" at a half-walk, half-jog and hopped off at the "moving walkway is ending" message. We browsed in gift shops and strolled through food courts. We felt very important and adult.
When my brother was in high school (again, pre-9/11), he and his friends used to drive to O'Hare, just to hang out. Let's face it, a group of suburban teenagers was pretty much destined to end up at a fast-food restaurant anyway; might as well make it one with good people-watching and a little glamour.
He and I get along much better now that we're adults, and we haven't traveled together in years. We had lunch on Monday, the day before he set off on the first of the three-day-a-week trips he'll be taking to Atlanta every week between now and the big move in mid-July. He's going to be spending a lot of time at O'Hare.
With air travel being what it is now, I haven't enjoyed my time at an airport in as long as I can remember. But knowing that our time together is going to be so much more limited, I find myself wishing I could drive out there with him some Tuesday morning for a ride on the people movers and a McDonald's apple pie.
posted by Madame Defarge at 4:54 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home