View larger image
Yesterday, Joe and Robby were here to see Matt off, and Joe said something like, “Have fun in Europe.” That’s when it sunk-in for me, and, I believe, for Matt because on the drive to airport he kept saying, “I’m going to wake up in a foreign country?” (The blessings of an exam tired youth meant sleep on the plane). How had we taken this trip so casually? Because it’s not Nicaragua? Because he has already flown (take a guess at the number *) since he was born?

We arrived at the airport early and after a steak and cheese sandwich and an IBC root beer Matt said, “I’m going.”

“But you don’t have to go through security for forty minutes. Your plane doesn’t leave for an hour and a half.” I tried to hold him back.

“I’m going.”

“No you’re not. You’re staying with us for another forty minutes.”

Two hugs later and he was a mere ghost passing through security.

Godspeed, my son, and don’t forget to visit Dash.

(*35. I boarded my first plane at twenty-one)