Ports of entry

Here I am, in my second home.  If you guessed Texas, you'd be wrong.  I love the place, but don't actually spend enough time there to claim it.  Traditionally, I consider the airport my second home.  By airport, I mean simply the general port of entry, not a particular airport. 

There are the usual mechanical rhythms, escalators, moving walkways, automated voices telling you the train is approaching.  Decorating the mechanical skeleton are the usual human elements, crowded coffee shops, bored-looking shoe shiners, and the river of humanity in transit.  Old, young, elated, tired, occupied by business concerns, occupied by small children, all have made their way to this port of entry. 

The particulars of their entry vary.  Some are entering business ventures, bluetooths (teeth?) buried almost permanently in their ears, negotiating and putting on airs for their higher ups.  For them the airport is one of two places.  To the fortunate ones, it is a place of frustration, a symbol of separation from their families.  Those less fortunate view the airport as an escape, a distraction from lives without people to love or a cause to uphold.  But this only represents a fraction of the whole. 

Another caricature to be drawn is that of the young family.  They're off to Disney Land, Grandma's house or other appealing summer destinations.  This group of fliers is the most determined and encumbered.  There are strollers, diaper bags, rolling suitcases with faces of Dora and Spider Man.  Watch out for the mom variety of this group.  She may be kind under usual circumstances, but under extreme conditions like wrangling two or three hungry children, and managing boarding passes for herself, her husband and the children, she could become demanding, frustrated, and reactionary. 

There are smaller groups, like the grandparents traveling to see their children, the college students, and people of the same variety as myself - young singles on their way here or there for travel/internships/adventures. 

Strangely enough, it is in airports that I find a sense of hope for humanity.  Their lives and conflicts are on public display, whether they realize it or not.  I see that business men still miss their sons and show a sense of remorse that they only have a t-shirt from a faraway city to show for missed time.  I see families excited to see relatives arriving from exotic places with names like Grand Rapids and Chattanooga.  I see lovers reunited after an unbearable four days of separation.

Yes, people from the news do exist.  Some do the unthinkable, others act like they are inhabiting a planet of their own.  Thankfully, these are not the majority just yet.  While there exists a possibility for change, hope lingers. 

Thank you, airport, for giving me unlimited entertainment, free wifi, and a glimpse of what Paul wrote about hundreds of years ago when he said, "The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth...made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determind allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, in the hope that they might feel their way toward him and find him.  Yet he is actually not far from each one of us..."

LMS