Flying is a part of life. We just do it and are thankful for every safe take off and landing. It was on a flight to Phoenix, AZ when I realized the depths of my husband’s fear. At the time he was heavy into his addiction. Quickly making friends on the plane they drank their worries away as we crossed state lines.
Now is a good time to mention most people adore my husband. He is a man’s man, big and authoritative. The guy’s got a million dollar smile and in our nine years together I’ve only witnessed one woman he couldn’t charm. She worked for the DMV.
As his worry diminished mine grew. In my adult life I had never been to this airport. How was I to get him off the plane, find our luggage and the passenger pick-up line? All the while making sure he didn’t get cited for drunk and disorderly. At this point though, I didn’t care if he spent the weekend in jail. However, I considered the fines “we” would have to pay if that happened. And then there was his temper. But, for now he was happy. He had new friends and a ragging buzz. The plane landed and everyone stumbled out.
Taking our places around baggage claim out of the corner of my right eye I saw him remove his jaunty cap and place it over his heart. For a moment I thought he was having a heart attack. Then, in his beautiful voice full of depth and range he belted out our National Anthem. People followed taking off their hats and some joining in. We all stood there staring at the non-moving carousel. In the end everyone applauded. I assume they found this acceptable behavior because no one ever wants to be unpatriotic in an airport. Fully embarrassed I sighed to him, “why?”
He smiled down at me, pulled me into a full embrace and he kissed me passionately. Then he gazed into my eyes replied simply,”baby you always gotta thank God for a safe flight.”