There are two types of people in this world. The first, a most tiresome bunch, can be easily agitated, and thus, easily manipulated. The second, understanding and open to the challenges of life, are out there, somewhere. As I sat in the most uncomfortable chair in an airport ever, a mother and her child came into my field of vision, as I tried desperately to stay awake during my thousand hour layover. The girl, no more than 5 years old, was obviously bored out of her mind and wanted to be noticed. She stood in the middle of the terminal and started to scream. Not the scream that has become synonymous with horror films, or being thrown off of a 10 story building. It was youthful, fun. She was trying to be noticed, was all. She was, after all, only five.
Two reactions came from the crowd of people standing and sitting (some groggy in their half asleep layover sadness) around her. The first, and that of the most tiresome bunch, looked at her in absolute disdain, and, realizing she would never get the hint, then looked to her mother to quiet the little bitch down. What the hell was she thinking, letting her scream like that?! The men and women who had once been that same age, an age of youthful innocence and wonder at all around them, had forgotten. They had forgotten what it felt to stand in the center of people, not caring what it meant to yell, scream, shout. They had forgotten what it meant to be young. And then, on the other side of the spectrum, were those who understood. I saw some, not many, who smiled. No looks to the girl. No looks to her mother. Just a simple smile, one gesture that can mean so little, and yet so much. An understanding, a rememberance, of what it meant to be young. And that she would grow up, and probably forget what it meant to stand in the center of society and scream just for the hell of it.
Her mother, taking a cue from the first group, slapped her hand down on her daughter's mouth, and made a hushed remark. More likely, a demand. But it did not seem to sway the girl, who kept wailing for all she was worth. The scream was muffled, but it was there. She was not finished yet. She took off down a length of chairs, her mother puffing along behind her, desperately trying to cover her outrageous daughter's cries of pleasure before anyone else gave her the look of death. From where I was sitting, it was the funniest thing I had seen in a long time, especially watching the first group of irksome travelers who had no patience for the audio-oriented pleasures of a little girl gone crazed. Her mother finally caught up with her at the giant plate-glass window, covering her little girl the best she could, but she just kept wooping and screaming. Muffled, maybe, but it was heard.
What does it mean to stand in a crowd and scream, or better yet, to speak your mind? Will the first group, the easily manipulated, make the rules? Will those who understand be forgotten by the wayside, or worse, pushed to the side while others look on in silence? I hope the little girl, the little girl who could scream in a Dublin layover terminal and never be silenced, even with the hand of authority muffling her cries, will never forget what it felt like to do what she did that day. She might, and then she will inevitably make her way into one of the two groups. Or, maybe, she can make her own. Before doing that, she must remember what it felt like to be the five year old, bored and eager to do whatever it took to gain the attention she deserved.
Two reactions came from the crowd of people standing and sitting (some groggy in their half asleep layover sadness) around her. The first, and that of the most tiresome bunch, looked at her in absolute disdain, and, realizing she would never get the hint, then looked to her mother to quiet the little bitch down. What the hell was she thinking, letting her scream like that?! The men and women who had once been that same age, an age of youthful innocence and wonder at all around them, had forgotten. They had forgotten what it felt to stand in the center of people, not caring what it meant to yell, scream, shout. They had forgotten what it meant to be young. And then, on the other side of the spectrum, were those who understood. I saw some, not many, who smiled. No looks to the girl. No looks to her mother. Just a simple smile, one gesture that can mean so little, and yet so much. An understanding, a rememberance, of what it meant to be young. And that she would grow up, and probably forget what it meant to stand in the center of society and scream just for the hell of it.
Her mother, taking a cue from the first group, slapped her hand down on her daughter's mouth, and made a hushed remark. More likely, a demand. But it did not seem to sway the girl, who kept wailing for all she was worth. The scream was muffled, but it was there. She was not finished yet. She took off down a length of chairs, her mother puffing along behind her, desperately trying to cover her outrageous daughter's cries of pleasure before anyone else gave her the look of death. From where I was sitting, it was the funniest thing I had seen in a long time, especially watching the first group of irksome travelers who had no patience for the audio-oriented pleasures of a little girl gone crazed. Her mother finally caught up with her at the giant plate-glass window, covering her little girl the best she could, but she just kept wooping and screaming. Muffled, maybe, but it was heard.
What does it mean to stand in a crowd and scream, or better yet, to speak your mind? Will the first group, the easily manipulated, make the rules? Will those who understand be forgotten by the wayside, or worse, pushed to the side while others look on in silence? I hope the little girl, the little girl who could scream in a Dublin layover terminal and never be silenced, even with the hand of authority muffling her cries, will never forget what it felt like to do what she did that day. She might, and then she will inevitably make her way into one of the two groups. Or, maybe, she can make her own. Before doing that, she must remember what it felt like to be the five year old, bored and eager to do whatever it took to gain the attention she deserved.
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