So, I was standing in the Minneapolis airport, and I hear a little voice filter through the fog of 36 hours of travel:
“NPR. I hate NPR. I want to take NPR and throw it in the trash.”
I heard this, and I thought, “Mary would be appalled.”
Apparently, her mommy only listened to NPR in the car, which annoyed this little girl to no end. The funny thing was, the mom TOTALLY looked like an NPR Mom, complete with shoulder length bob haircut, long-sleeve T-shirt probably purchased from REI, and dark khaki walking shorts. Then NPR Dad arrived, with khaki pants and some sort of green safari shirt with sleeves that roll up and button. Poor kid. She was seven, and she already knew her parents were those parents; the ones who send nutritious snacks instead of cupcakes to class for birthday parties, and believes toy guns are evil incarnate. I broke in at this point and told the little girl that I didn’t like the news at her age either, but that I did now. I told her it was important to know about the world, because then you can help people. I think she bought it, because she liked the idea that I had been to Africa.
And I know that the tag says this post was written sometime after midnight the day I returned. I can’t sleep because my head is stuffed with snot, and my ears never quite popped after we landed in San Jose. Which makes for a lousy evening.