Leaving Family in USA

My mother always packs a bag of food for me every time I leave home. Always, somehow, through some inconceivable habit, I forget it. I walk through airport security, wave farewell, blow a kiss, and this bag of food is always still sitting in my father’s hand when I board the plane. After I leave he probably looks down and laughs, because he knows that I forgot this bag of food again. Now I go hungry to Costa Rica (But I know of a good place to get a mean burrito when I get there).

My family is good to me. I was lucky, I was born into a really good family. An afterschool special type of family. I feel bad being away from them so much, but they know I am happy. They did their job: they raised a happy child into a happy man. They are without comparison.

Right now I am sitting on airplane to JFK looking out the window. Inside the airport I can see my family looking out at the airplane, waving and trying to figure out where I am sitting. “I am in the back, mom! I am always in the back. I never seem to book my flights far enough in advance to sit in the front!” My entire family is still standing in the airport, looking out the window and waving aimlessly at a plane they can only presume that I may be on. They will be there until this plane leaves the ground. I am a lucky man.

Wade from Vagabond Journey.com
Mexico City, Mexico
January 20, 2007