Heartwarmed in the Houston Airport

Everyone has a Story

The Houston to Alexandria plane is late.

It’s the story of airports:  hurry up and wait.

I take my spot at Gate B-66.  Ready to get home to the Louisiana piney woods.

It’s then I see her.

Let me rephrase that.  I see them.

A lovely older woman with a lifetime smile that she’s probably worn for eighty-plus years.

She’s got a reason to smile.  She feeding a bottle to a tiny baby.

They’re protectively surrounded by what I surmise is their family.

The woman is probably the great-grandmother.  I can pick out what are probably four generations staring adoringly at the baby and grandma.

It touches me.

Everyone in an airport has a story.

I don’t know theirs.

I just know they are family.

I can sense it.

I can see it.

I can even feel it.


In a society where it seems every family is under attack, it takes an airport delay and a great grandmother-grandchild to remind me that the things that really matter always have to do with family.

The family is alive.

Long live the family.



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