I asked my friend Robin if I could borrow her story here, and she said sure. She flew early this morning, and there was a young family that was going to be on her flight. In her words:
“When we were in the waiting area, the little boy was very much his parents child. His dad held him up to the window, showing him the view through the plate glass. His mom spelled his first name for the person to whom we were giving our boarding passes. (I was right behind them but don’t remember the name because it’s not one I’ve ever before heard.) The family spoke another language to one another. English they spoke to the agent was clearly accented but was clear. The father was wearing a tee shirt only one word of which I read: Dutch.
Then the parents were delayed a bit folding up the two-child stroller. The little boy went ahead a bit to see what was next. And all of a sudden he was everyone’s child. The stewardess was ahead of him. At the spot where the platform we were walking on meets the plane, there is a gap. He stopped. He looked. He held up his hand in a way that let me know he wanted someone to hold his hand. I did. The stewardess was encouraging him to take that big step across the small gap. He did. I looked back and asked the mom whether her son spoke English. Just then he said “Whoosh!” Recognizable in any language. Then he looked up and realized it wasn’t mom’s hand he was holding. Lucky mom was right behind us.”
And thus one little boy had a morning that showed everybody around him, through his eyes, that the world is a friendly place.
I can’t wait to go “Whoosh!” next week!