We pulled into the parking lot of Stan’s Grill around the corner from our kids’ house in Plano
Our grandchildren Tyler and Reagan were upstairs, supposedly asleep. But excitement was in the air, and though Grandpa and Grandma were tired and ready for bed they were not. They knew better than to come down and announce they were awake but they didn’t have to. Their scurrying feet on the wood floors upstairs gave them away. We sat on the couch quietly for a few minutes, wondering whether to just go to bed or to make some sort of statement that they needed to bed down for good. Grandpa chose the latter.
I listened as he walked up stairs, his cowboy boots sounding purposeful on the steps. As he got close to the top we heard the sound of little feet moving swiftly across the floor, then suddenly nothing. Grandpa made the rounds into each room upstairs, finding nothing but peacefully sleeping children in their beds. He never said a word, just walked back down at the same steady pace he had gone up. And we never heard them again until morning.
We were up early but not as early as Tyler Tyler
Within half an hour we were ready. Grandpa was to drive the kids’ Tahoe and I was to drive our truck. No way did I want to drive a vehicle I wasn’t familiar with around DFW. Plus I’d heard there was construction on the way and I was nervous about it, even on a Saturday morning. This was one time we did NOT want to be late. I wanted to be standing at the International Arrival gate well before any one of those precious kids stepped through the entrance.
It started out pretty well. We had cell phones, I had the truck’s nav system. We made a few calls to make sure we agreed we were heading in the right direction. Then we missed a turn and things started to get a little wonky. We got back on track alright, but I could hardly keep up with the Tahoe. Grandpa, who usually drives at the pace of a snail with the flu, was at the speed limit, and not paying attention to whether I was behind him in the lane or not. Which was particularly problematic when we hit the construction on 114 and the lanes condensed. He shot out ahead of me as we merged into traffic, and I found myself sandwiched between two lanes of quickly-merging, daredevil drivers who could care less that I was in a big truck. I saw the car on the right sweep past me, then looked to my left and realized the concrete barrier was coming ever closer. My lane was ending. I checked my mirrors, signaled and moved to the left. Only to be nearly creamed by a red Porsche from out of nowhere who had to be going 90. He honked furiously as I swerved to the right, narrowly missing a small white sedan who also wanted to be in front. Amazingly, in a few seconds I was safely merged and looking for the Tahoe. I was shaking and not confident about where we were headed. I glimpsed the Tahoe moving to the far right exit lane just in time to get in the right lane, only 4 cars separating us. No way was I going to call him, my hands gripped the wheel tightly and I just prayed that we wouldn’t get separated or turned around and be late greeting our children.
At the outer edge of the DFW complex we approached toll booths. The Tahoe went to first one, then another, switching between those for toll tags and those without. I got behind him in the cash only lane, only to see him whip into the tag lane. Caught by surprise I had to remain in my lane. Sure enough he was through his lane and pedal to the metal again before I could fish out a few bucks from my purse, hands still shaking. I didn’t know which terminal lane to be in but thought I remembered hearing him confirm with Chris that it was “D”. The Tahoe was nowhere in sight and as I looked for it a shuttle nearly ran me off the road without so much as a wave or a honk. Wait, - there, up ahead - he was exiting right towards Terminal D! I punched the accelerator and got on his tail as fast as I could. I was still in shock that he was actually driving the speed limit and maneuvering like he was in a road rally.
He missed the entrance to our parking area, and started to backup. Fortunately I saw his reverse lights come on, checked behind me and no one was coming so I too put it in reverse. A few minutes later we were parked side by side. I shut the engine and just sat there, stunned by the drive. Paul came around to open the door and it was all I could do not to cry. “What’s the matter, you upset?” he asked cluelessly. “Oh, just two near-miss accidents that could have killed me and the stress of trying to keep up with a speed demon who normally drives like an old Grandpa,” I said with irritation. “Oh, sorry,” he grinned. “Let’s go inside!”
There is only one gate for international arrivals and I began figuring out the best place to stand. At the end of the walkway was good because you could hug them soonest there. But I wanted us to be the first thing they laid eyes on when those doors opened, so I tested out several spots along the railing. Grandpa is not a stand-still sort of person so he was going to wander no matter where I stood. Finally I had it – on their left, almost halfway down. They’d be able to go through the door and when they first looked up they’d see us!
We got coffee, and I observed to the man behind the counter that he had one of the happiest jobs in the world. He looked at me curiously. “You get to see people who live far away and maybe don’t see each other for years greet each other! How much fun, how exciting!” I exclaimed. “Yeah, I guess so,” he replied, unimpressed with my perspective on his job. I didn’t care, I was so excited. Any minute now.
I kept holding my camera up to the door each time it opened, calculating exactly how I should position it so I could capture them under the “International Arrivals” sign. I practiced positioning my elbow, arm, and the angle of the camera until I could do it without thinking. About an hour and a half after we arrived, the door opened and I saw them. Finally. THEY ARE HERE !!!!
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