flight

…a word often accompanied by anticipation of receiving or being received by a loved one. Some are dreadfully afraid of it. Others get overly excited. Others have done it too many times to be either, just another necessary mode of transportation.

For me, this simple word causes a flood of warm memories. What seems like a lifetime ago, remembered like it was yesterday.

We were young. Getting out of bed in the morning was not our forte. My parents would chose one victim to wake and send to the shower, the rest would follow one at a time, each tagged by the previous. One lucky person would inevitably get to stay in bed the longest, but with the consequence of having the shortest time.

My dad is always on time.

If the smell of his cologne caught us in the bedroom, breakfast still uneaten, we knew we’d better stuff it, pack it, or leave it… but there was still time. However, once he stepped from the room, briefcase in hand, and announced the boarding and departure of the white Honda Accord, flight number equivalent to its licence plate, time was up.

That final boarding call was later shortened to one single word resounding from the same position at the top of the staircase every morning…

‘Flight!’