As usual when I travel by myself, I arrive well before departure time at the airport. Having grown up in an environment where regular travel was only for the wealthy and eccentric, I find it in a strange way enjoyable to be immersed in seemingly organised chaos of modern day travel. I get myself a drink and a sandwich and start people watching. The airport is very busy this morning, people keeping a desperate eye on the screens with flight information, eating breakfast, nodding off in the uncomfortable seats and then I see them.
Father and son, father standing, facing his son who is sitting on one of the benches. He got the last available seat. The son looks in his mid twenties and looks like what we called in the old days mentally retarded. Now we would call it more politically correct a person with learning difficulties. He has a friendly face, eyes are focused on dad. And although he is sitting in the chair, he looks more ready then the standing father to jump up and go. There is something haunted, hunted and fragile about the boy and I hypothesise a world of teasing, bullying and suffering. School must have been hard. Father is in his mid to lat fifties and has the rugged look of someone who has worked hard, in the open air and with his hands all his life. He looks at his boy and I can see a hint of sadness in his eyes, but also a fierce pride. He is forming a protective shield for his son. He is not a big man but when he stands in front of his boy he becomes a towering giant, everything dwarfs when he shields his son. All the airport hustle and bustle is kept away from the young man by dad. His broad shoulders, and I can see them growing bigger each time there is a loud announcement or when the other waiting-to-travel people get loud. His son barely takes his eyes of dad, dad is here and things are all right. He smiles and tries to say something, but speaking is difficult for him, but dad understands and whispers, not adding any extra noise to the ruckus of the airport, ‘Yes it is noisy’. And smiles, when dad smiles, the sparkle in the boy’s eyes becomes a glow. Dad’s whisper is softly spoken, but sitting 5 metres away I am surprised to be able to hear him. The voice of love carries further than anything else. Although there are now empty seats next to the young man, dad keeps his protective posture and the young man keeps his eyes on his dad. He asks a question, unintelligible to me, but dad understands and says, while signalling with his hands another 15 minutes. Despite dad’s protective presence, the noise and changing environment is clearly stressful for the young man, his smile becomes a bit forced and just before I start to feel pity, dad reaches out with one hand and puts it on the boys had and it looks like this simple gesture keeps it all out and the smile becomes alive again. ‘Dad is here, he will take care of it.’
Unfortunately their flight is delayed (I am pretty neurotic when it comes to travel so I am always early) and I see and hear dad whispering that it takes a bit longer and for the next hour this giant of man stands there, barely moving, barely speaking, his eyes on his boy and at times briefly glancing at the information panels. At times briefly touching the young man’s head. The boy looks at dad, he is life, he will protect, when dad is there it will be all right, dad is his rock and perhaps he is dad’s anchor point. When their flight is at last announced, dad’s looks expectantly at the boy (they travel to Alicante). The boy has recognised the name of the city they are flying to, he raises his right hand, finger pointing straight in the air and says (at least I think he says) ‘We are going to take the plane to Alicante’ as that beams with pride and says ‘Yes my boy we are going to take the plane!’ The boy now reaches up with his hand and dad takes it and there they go, hand in hand, this giant of a man with his boy, his boy and it WILL be all right.