Tom Hanks Is Great In An Airport

Airports are strange places. Every time I'm in one, I find myself waiting impatiently for Tom Hanks to leap over the turnstile, dash straight past the lone security guard (who delivers the limp, half-hearted, "Hey, you! Come back here!"), and beg me not to go (Where? I don't know. Why? I don't know). It has yet to happen, and because of a heightened level of security post 9/11 and a non-existent level of Tom Hanks in my life, it probably never will. Not to mention the fact that Tom and I are both happily married to other people and this is a situation that really only exists in Nora Ephron movies. Sadly.

Despite their obvious lack of Tom Hanks and general sense of inconvenience, airports are one of the best places for people-watching, mostly because they tend to bring out the absolute worst in people. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's the recycled air, the TSA pat-downs, the nagging fear of accidentally leaving your bag unattended. Whatever the reason, tensions run tend to run high, making for some quality entertainment. And last week, when I found myself there to pick up my in-laws, was no exception. 

While waiting I overheard (read: eavesdropped on) a conversation between a mother and her daughter, who was to my best approximation, about thirteen or fourteen. From what I could gather, the mom was the one who was about to fly, but her flight was delayed so she was hanging out with her family outside the security checkpoint while she waited. The girl spent most of her time texting, her thumbs a wild blur, and looking like she'd rather be anywhere in the world than at the airport with her mother. For awhile, they weren't terribly interesting to watch. Then the mom decided to drop a bomb, in a conversation that went a little something like this:

Dad: "Oh look, your flight's boarding."
Mom: "Great" (turning to her daughter) "By the way, I'm chaperoning your trip in May. I signed up last week."
Daughter: "Mom, no. Mom. This is a joke. You're kidding, right? You're not seriously doing this to me, right? Do you have any idea how humiliating it will be to have you on this trip?"
Mom: "How could it possibly be humiliating? I'll just be a chaperone! I'll be there in the background. You won't even notice me! There will be ten other chaperones there!"
Daughter: "No. No! You'll like, knock on my hotel door in the morning and tell me to take my vitamins. Or you'll like, give me sunscreen to put on or make me wear a sweater when I'm cold. It's going to be the worst. You will ruin the trip. You will ruin my whole life!"

Needless to say, their conversation wasn't exactly quiet and at one point I made eye contact with the daughter. She looked at me, rolled her eyes, and threw her arms up in exasperation as if to say, "Parents! They just don't understand, right?" And I felt an instant wave of sympathy and solidarity.

With her mother.

Ten years ago, I was nineteen years old. If nineteen-year-old me had been in that airport, I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that she would have sympathized with the younger girl. It is embarrassing that your mom wants to go on your trip! If my mom was going on my trip I'd like, totally die. Your mom will come into your room and tell you to take your vitamins and offer you a sweater! My mom would have done the same thing and my mom was the worst. Ugh, I can practically hear smug nineteen-year-old me, with her stupid boundless energy and eye make-up so dark you could see it from space saying these things to herself (probably out loud under her breath without realizing it, because some things never change). Sometimes nineteen-year-old me makes twenty-nine-year-old me want to hang her head in shame.

Back then, I probably wouldn't have noticed the mom at all. How tired she looked, how rejected she felt by her daughter, how she had probably been both dreading this conversation and anticipating the result. I definitely wouldn't have noticed the dad's deer-in-the-headlights, "Oh dear God, we're having this conversation now?" look on his face. I absolutely wouldn't have picked up on the fact that this mom's "Disapoint-N-Dash" maneuver was brilliant on a thousand different levels. But most of all, I wouldn't have felt sympathy for her because I had no idea how hard it was being a parent. How hard it is to put someone else before yourself, care about them constantly, worry about things like how much sleep they get or if they'll put on a sweater when they're cold, only to have them roll their eyes at you. I didn't have a clue. No one ever does.

Almost exactly two years ago, I started writing this blog, but I didn't really start it so that I could chronicle my life, per se. I started it so I could chronicle the gradual shift of my perspective. Parenthood is a huge factor in my changing perspective (obviously) but getting older and figuring out who I am and what I really care about is a part of it too. I started this blog because I find the metamorphosis from idealistic, energetic young person to exhausted, idealistic (but in a biting, cynical kind of way) older person both fascinating and terrifying. I'm writing it because I like to think there is more to me than meets the eye and I like to explore that. I'm writing it because I saw a "Saved By The Bell" episode for the first time in about a million years, and all I could do was glare at the TV and wonder where the hell their parents were and why they weren't doing something to stop all of these teenage shenanigans, and frankly, I have no idea when I started to think that way.

And of course, I write it because I'll do anything to get a laugh.

We all change as we get older and begin to see things in a different way. I guess it's all part of this whole "growing up" thing that I've heard so much about. And who knows? Maybe someday I'll write about how I've given up singing Brown Sugar every time I make oatmeal or how I've finally stopped casting myself in the Meg Ryan role of my Tom Hanks airport daydream.

Then again, maybe not.