What happens when twelve family members, most between the ages of 16 and 24 are accused of being hooligans in an airport? It started...many years ago...
Scroll down to read chapter one, where the hijinks began.
CHAPTER 2
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| Photo by Mary Vee |
The following moments in the airport must have been the inspiration for the opening of Home Alone. The family collage contained a myriad of ages from five months to twenty-four years plus an overwhelmed patriarch and a matriarch who knew to stay out of his way at this moment.
Although the packing limit allowed each person to take one suitcase, the chaotic moment resembled a failed football scrimmage after the whistle blew. The whys and wheres had not been explained, or maybe they had been, but the thrill blocked the tribe’s ears, especially since all, except two, had never flown on a plane, much less visited a foreign country.
The patriarch was affectionately called Dud, even when he
was in a frantic, sour mood. His suit coat
pockets bulged with government documents, itineraries, boarding passes, and
possibly other documents. He held onto the details like a treasure map about to
be stolen.
The poor man dealt with such a range of emotions. Airport security. Questions repeated for the thirtieth time. His own excitement to see his childhood home. He was about to take this brood of hooligans to a communist country to visit his family whom he hadn’t seen in forty years. “There will be no hooliganism,” he shouted. His reddened face served as a gong, stilling the chaos…for a moment.
The poor man dealt with such a range of emotions. Airport security. Questions repeated for the thirtieth time. His own excitement to see his childhood home. He was about to take this brood of hooligans to a communist country to visit his family whom he hadn’t seen in forty years. “There will be no hooliganism,” he shouted. His reddened face served as a gong, stilling the chaos…for a moment.
He’d heard his mother and two brothers had survived Siberia,
learning only remnants of their story. The news both broke his heart and warmed
his spirit. Hardships that would later be shared with his family at the dining
room table in the quasi quiet of his own American home.
He led the family through the airport terminals in a day
before TSA herded people into cattle lines, squeezing through invasive security
scans before releasing them into the terminal. En masse they walked to the gate
for those flying to Laguardia. He spoke the first of many last minute reminders. “Stay
together. No hooliganism.” Any other words were promptly disregarded. From the
stack of boarding passes he distributed the first set and sat in one of the
seats, and closed his eyes to the embarrassing behavior of his teens until the
time came for boarding.
At the call of the attendant, the twelve stood in line.
Softly, near the back of the family group, one of the teens whispered his
panic, “I don’t know where my boarding pass is. I can’t find it.”
Word passed up the line until reaching Dud. He scrambled with the eleven out of line, searching like hens pecking the ground for food. It
wasn’t in the boy’s pocket. It wasn’t on the floor near where he sat. Where had
he walked in such a short time? The search bled beyond the gate.
A woman’s voice blared over the loudspeaker cutting through
the din. “Passengers with boarding passes for Laguardia should board immediately. There
was no time for beads of sweat, wide eyes or gasps. Dud shifted into solution
mode. The same one as when death knocked on his patient’s door and the crash
cart rolled in. In the main walkway, a boarding pass released from a man’s
shoe. He walked on, leaving the soiled paper behind.
Dud barged through the jungle and scooped up the paper
disregarding the dirt soiling his new suit. The pass allowed one passenger on
his flight, but it wasn’t his son’s. He pressed it into his son’s hand and
ordered the group to get back in line.
The scanner dinged twelve times.
Twelve seatbelts clicked.
Unlike the home alone scene, there was no first class or
champaign reward for a patriarch who successfully herded his family onto a
Christmas vacation flight, leaving no one at home.
The story continues...
It's a 20 - 20 year
It may be a roller coaster or smooth sailing.
Hold on!
There's no looking back. No hindsight.
There's no looking back. No hindsight.
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Christmas is Mary Vee's favorite holiday. She loves to travel to places like New York City and Paris. Maryis an award-winning author and writes for her king.
Visit Mary at her Website, Blog, and her ministry blog to families: God Loves Kids. Or chat on Facebook or Twitter
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