Several weeks ago, when Jesse and I were flying home from California, we had an unpleasantly long travel day (I wrote about it here). When we finally landed in Seattle, Jesse was fussing in the Ergo, I was tired and greasy, standing awkwardly with my head bowed under the overhead bin because Jesse wanted me to stand but I’m too tall to do so naturally. I let several people go past me, as they were pawing the aisleway like feral horses and I couldn’t move fast enough.
I just about to reach up to get my bag when a grey-haired man a few rows back said, “I’ll get your bag, which one is it?” I was grateful but a little embarrassed - gosh shouldn’t I be able to carry my own things? But he hefted it onto his shoulder without a second glance and followed me out of the plane. Once on the jet-bridge, I turned around. “It’s OK, I can take it,” I said, and he just raised his eyebrows at me kindly. “I got it. You’re carrying enough.” he replied. It was such a gentle, fatherly thing to say.
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