Veteran's Day

A few weeks ago I took Hannah to Chicago. The trip was great... getting back through O'Hare without Rachelle was a bit tough. Not that Hannah wasn't anything but wonderful. (Perish the thought!) But she is a two year-old, and she doesn't like to stay still. That meant I had to put her in a stroller, to keep her from running away. And, well, shlepping through an airport with a stroller, three large carry-ons, and a kicking child aint easy. Putting it all through the x-ray machine was particularly crazy.

Still, there was one bright spot: the FAMILY BATHROOM. An oasis of private space and modern plumbing, specially designed for poor shmucks like me. And considering the size of airplane lavatories, I made sure to find a Family Bathroom before our flight.

The sign said vacant, so I turned the handle. I quickly noticed that the room was, in fact, not vacant at all. Army fatigues litter the floor, the changing table, the garbage can, everything. Wow, I think, I just stumbled upon two soldiers having a little romantic rendezvous in the Family Bathroom.

I close the door as fast as I can. "I'm so sorry!" yells a male voice from inside the bathroom, "I'll be out in a minute!"

"Don't worry," I yell back, "I'm in no rush." Which was true -- we had gotten to the airport in plenty of time. But I didn't have time to locate another Family Bathroom. So Hannah and I just stood there.

Around thirty seconds later, the door opens. Out steps a stocky man in uniform, maybe my age, looking incredibly sheepish. I don't let him get the first word in.

"Sorry about that," I say, trying to make the situation seem normal. "I just wanted to make sure my daughter went to the bathroom before our flight."

"I know how it is," replies the soldier, "I've got three little girls at home. Hope you don't mind, I left my stuff in there. I have a little more cleaning up to do."

Now I'm confused, but try not to show it. "Uh, okay," I mumble, while pushing the stroller inside the bathroom.

I close the door and look around. No army girl anywhere to be seen. A razor and a toothbrush are balanced on the sink. All these clothes must be his. An open bag rests on the floor... my brain finally begins to process what's going on. It's a lot more innocent than I imagined. A lone soldier was rummaging through his bag to find his cleanest outfit. He was getting cleaned up. He's going home to his family.

I unstrap Hannah from the stroller and pick her up onto the toilet. She sits there. Nothing's happening. Great. If she has to pee during takeoff, I won't know what to do.

Then something catches my eye on the changing table. An army hat, upside down... and there are pills in it. Huge pills, half red, half black. Maybe twenty of them. They look like they could sedate a horse. I don't even want to know why he needs them.

What I do know, though, is that my life could be a lot tougher.