Text from my brother Dave as he sat in Atlanta's airport:
I am sitting on the plane at the terminal, stuck for about 30 miinutes. We are still supposed to be in Philly at 3 am. A wee babe cries for his poppa just over my shoulder. Sweet, sincere and FUCKING ANNOYING. oh, and another wee babe begins to echo the first babes cries like they are communicating in some horrible chalkboard scratching like language. Truly a symphony.
I read it to Fr. Michael and rather than laugh, he said with wide eyes and a serious tone, "Is he a writer? He has a wonderful way with words. Very impressive."
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