No Selfie Stick or Fire Hoses

I am so proud of my husband. He just glided in his last aircraft landing from Portugal yesterday after 48 years of flying (26 for United and 22 years flying for the Marines). The entire crew  joined our family for his last meal at one of his favorite restaurants in the Barrio Alto. The next day on the plane, his crew made a great congrats announcement and all the passengers clapped. Then, on landing, he made an awesome farewell speech on the loudspeaker where he introduced  me and my son and then passed the gauntlet to him as he announced our son's intent to become a pilot as well. 

As we taxied towards the gate, we were met by fire trucks shooting water over the plane. The door opened to a Jetway filled with a host of friends from the grounds to other pilots. Lastly, he had our son stand by his side to say goodbye wearing his captain's hat, and yes, he even made me join them. The passengers all hugged him and some even stopped to take selfies.

Next, the chief pilot came on board and gave him a beautiful plaque, and then he took pictures with he crew before heading out to join some more pilot friends and their family for dinner at Clyde’s. It was a great day for him, and he deserved it. 

Then,I began to think about my own retirement and what it will be like. I was truly happy for my husband, but thought how funny it was that 200 total strangers who never even saw his face until landing wanted to take pictures, hug, and high-five him. He was treated like a celebrity, as if he had done something that they will will remember him always for. He flew 1/3 of their seven hour flight sharing duties with two other pilots. Yet these total strangers wanted hugs and selfies with him. 

Yes, I am extremely proud of my husband for his 22 years of service with the Marines (including flying in the Gulf War) and then 26 more years for a commercial airline. However, when I retire I know I will pack up and empty my room one last time, pick up a lapel pin at the last faculty meeting, and maybe be given a cake and small celebration in the teacher's lounge if I am lucky. Of the thousand's of kids who I cared for, taught, and nurtured for 180 days each year... there will be no selfie stick or fire hoses shooting water. But I will get the best gift of all, the memory of all the lives I touched and the knowledge that I know I made a difference.