What gets me about coming back home (by which I mean the U.S. in general--since I've lived on both coasts and in both noncontiguous states) is how friendly and accomodating people are. And it gets me literally. Every. Time.
In American airports, you find voluntary "Airport Ambassadors," like the two in Dallas who were happy to call my hotel to request the complimentary shuttle. (Because my hotel wasn't included in the quick-dial kiosk that connects automatically and because I didn't have a U.S. cell phone.) Coming through Customs, same thing. Yeah, the lines were long, but it would've been hard not to notice how apt stangers were to converse while waiting, updating each other on the Pebble Beach golf tournament status or wishing each other good travels. When I got to the front of the line, the Customs and Border Patrol Officer told me, "Welcome back," and, seeing my birthday on my declaration form, the Customs clerk who took it said, "Happy belated birthday." It may seem odd that I mention all of this, but the kind of discourse that is everyday American strikes me when I return from overseas.
And then there is the way Americans value the members of the military, even if they disagree with where and how the government employs them. The flight attendant thanked the military passengers for their service and the rest of us applauded them when we landed at LAX. Americans know how to appreciate the military, and I appreciate that about America.
I'm in Hawaii now. I flew from Frankfurt to Dallas, overnighted, and then continued on the next day via LAX. Mom has her knee surgery this morning, and I will send an email to keep everyone updated.
Till then,
-h
P.S. Through an odd constellation of events, Alan finds himself having the mother (or rather, father) of single-parenting weeks ahead of him. This week, he has swimming, violin, a recital, mandatory cookie-bringing, school Valentine-swapping and (the crowning glory) class-picture day. Man, oh, man.
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