We're usually busy, and we're usually doing, but the doing is not always redeemable for praise. More often it's not. Unfortunately.
eg: San Francisco's airport terminals are art galleries. Plus, there's the Sports Hall of Fame which displays plaques of local stars, many of whom are, or were, dads.
There's Joe DiMaggio. Dom DiMaggio, too. John Madden, and others.
Which is to suggest that as airport waiting experiences are concerned San Francisco can be entertaining and informative. But, then there's the dads. Maybe it was just one dad that soured me on the whole SFO experience?
Man, he was ruthless. Berating. Cutting her down. He was righter than right, and so she must have been wrong. But not that wrong.
"What the hell?"
Since I was two seats away that's what I said, a bit too loud to get his and her attentions. I lifted up my laptop and looked beneath it for the explanation of my faux-confusion. "Damnit!" I said, even louder. Then lifted my laptop, peering at its underside, turning it over, opening and closing it for effect. Rolling my eyes. The very picture of exasperation.
He stopped. Maybe he looked at me, but I never made contact. Later his wife glanced in my direction, I shrugged still in my exasperated mode. We weren't on the same page, but at least I wasn't listening to him anymore. Neither was she.
Come on, dads. We deserve the praise.
