I’m off to Washington D.C., a place where I’m told I can establish and secure my future as a public servant to The People…
I don’t think anyone can match my giddy energy. Wait… never mind—I wrote too soon. I did find perhaps one other who rivaled my enthusiasm while waiting at the terminal before I boarded this plane. Sitting at the gate, listening to rerunning clips of Hilary Rodham Clinton’s Democratic Convention speech on the TV above me, I heard a loud and rather high-pitched squeal coming from my right. Followed by the rumble of staggering footsteps from what appeared to be a 3-year-old boy, I watched as he peddled his way to the window behind me. He climbed up on the chair two seats beside me—all the while muttering “ut, ut, ut”—and stood on the chair to see that which I merely glanced over: the Continental airplane parked in the hanger just outside the window behind me. I thought his eyes would pop out of his head when he squealed again, only this time I was ready for the screechy sound.
As the newcomer oohed and ahhed at the plane I looked to see where he’d run from—a young couple with their hands full, directing two other young children (or trying to…). The mom rushed over the isle to grab the little boy, smiled apologetically at me and I just laughed. How could I not? The little boy could barely say “awpwain,” and yet he was clearly one of the happiest creatures in the entire airport.
Why do I write about him? Because I’ll never forget thinking how his excitement reflected my own. Going where no one knows my name, nor of my existence, I too am seeking a greater view. He peers through an airport window; my eyes turn toward the future and some unidentified dream…something that can give meaning to my life…something that will help me help this world in some way, shape or form. God willing, I’ll find my place to do just that.
