My twenty month old daughter loves the airport, because it’s a big indoor place to run around, and so she didn’t notice at first that I had gone to get on a flight. But concern set in when it was time to leave the parking lot. Full of concern she pointed at the terminal and went “Da! Da! Da DAAA!” – Mom, wait, we’ve forgotten someone!

I used to think I was at home on the road, and nothing was better than a long stretch of empty highway. But that was before I had a little person in the house who would reach over her head into a drawer, pull out an oven mitt that looks like a cat, and drop it over a baby gate onto a cat food dish so it could eat. Maybe even at her age she knows better than I do what we all hunger for.


This was published on 24 Jan 2005.
A permalink to this post: home is where.

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