Lessons in a coat pocket

Several winters ago, when we were making our way to Wisconsin to see my parents, our plane got delayed. I remember hearing the news in the Minneapolis airport and expressing my displeasure loudly – the girls were little, traveling was tough enough without delays, and I was extremely tired and frustrated. (I may have even sworn out loud.) I flopped down in a chair and looked to my right, where an older woman – some sort of airport employee who was clearly on her break – was sitting with a smile on her  face. She was watching the girls (who were then, I’m guessing, about 2 and 5), and she pulled from her pocket a few packages of Pepperidge Farm crackers. She obviously didn’t speak much English, because she gestured for me to take them, which I did, stuffing some in my pocket and giving the others to the girls. (All the while feeling embarrassed about how I had just acted.)

Long after we – finally – boarded the plane, that scene with the little old lady stuck in my mind. She had been so sweet and generous – such a contrast to my grumpiness – and she had reminded me, in that moment, that the small stuff (like a delayed flight) isn’t what matters in life. What matters are things like the innocent look on my sweet girls’ faces and the random kindness of strangers. I purposefully left one of the packages in my coat to remember her…

Fast forward to last month, when we were getting ready to go to Tahoe and I plucked from the back of my closet a warm down jacket that I hadn’t worn in years. I took it upstairs to try it on and when I reached into my pocket I felt it: one of those little cracker packages from the airport. I immediately burst into tears. The girls, who were standing near me, looked horrified – but when I managed to get out the story I think they got it. Sorta.

I put the crackers right back into my pocket. For next time. Should I forget again.

-M

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