Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Our exchange student from 5 years ago, Juan, is visiting for two weeks. The DH was working on Saturday, so the boys and I went to greet him. He arrived safely, even a little early. A lot different than 5 years ago. This was three weeks before 9/11 so we waited as the passengers filed off the plane and into the terminal. I was ther with out DH again. The boys were acting like 4 and 1 year old, because they were and I was ready to get them back into a controlled environment - the car. But as the last passengers rolled past us, it became clear that Juan wasn't on this flight. After a few calls at a pay phone (this was pre-cell phone for me), while my boys played on the luggage roller, we headed back home. Later that night, I returned to bring Juan home. In his broken English he explained he had missed his flight in Atlanta. I felt for him, being in a foreign country, trying to navigate the flight schedules and the sprawling, frenetic Atlanta airport. It's unnerving enough for a native, at least the first time you encounter it. Many months later, we learned the truth. He was in Atlanta with time to spare to catch his connecting flight, but spent too much time browsing the duty free store, arriving at his gate too late.