Who Knew???

That there could be so many 6’1″, middle aged, balding, silver haired men in the Beijing airport? My Air China flight arrived about 45 minutes before my parents’ Korean Air flight. After claiming my bag, I settled in the coffee shop, ordered a Sprite, and read a few pages in my book. Or tried to. I was distracted watching the scene at the international arrivals gate. Every so often a red light would flash on the information board, announcing the arrival of another flight. The number of people crowded around the arrivals gate was amazing. Men carrying bouquets, armfuls, of flowers – mostly roses and lilies – to greet their travelling friends. A tour guide, dressed in a traditional costume, fidgeting, looking very uncomfortable. Drivers, lackadaisically leaning against the wall, holding up white rectangles with black block letter, some neatly printed, others scribbled quickly, naming their passengers. Chinese, English, Korean. Friends, standing on luggage carts, peering through the plate glass windows, trying to find their friends. But a frenetic energy about it all. No one standing still. I allowed enough time, so I thought, for my parents to clear customs and gather their bags. I finished my Sprite and headed into the din. I could easily see over most the heads in front of me. Occasionally someone thrust a sing in front of me, blocking my view. I would shift a little to the right, or to the left, and continue looking for my parents. One of the signs thrust in front of me had my father’s name on it. I smiled, introduced myself as Jerry’s daughter, and explained my parents should be arriving at any moment. Every so often, I thought I saw my father, I’d turn to Mr. Li (holding the sign) and say, Here they come. Then a minute later, Oh, it’s not them. After half an hour, Mr. Li said, “Why don’t you go closer to look for your friends.” My parents, I said. He gave me a look. Okay. Yes, I had misidentified my parents at least a dozen times in the past half hour. I moved closer. I was in the midst of the greeters. I watched as a group of students from BYU arrived. A group of middle aged backpackers from Denmark. A Beijing Middle School orchestra, wheeling their huge cellos past. And so many men who I thought were my father. But weren’t.

I glanced at the arrivals board. Korean Air 851 was no longer posted. I glanced at my watch. 1:10 pm. Their flight had landed at 11:20 am. I walked over to Mr. Li. I don’t know where they are. We were in Seoul together this morning. I took China Air. They were on Korean Air. I don’t know. He nodded his head. Maybe I will go to the Korean Air counter and see if they actually boarded. “Good idea,” he countered. “I will stay here with sign.”

I found the tiny Korean Air office on the third floor, down a long, windowless corridor. I explained the situation to the man working there. He listened patiently, then said, ” I’m sorry. Private information. I can’t tell you.” I thought for a moment. Yes, it’s true. It is private information. They are also my parents. I would like to know if I should start their abduction search in Seoul, or in Beijing. Softly, ever so quietly, I said, Please. They are my mother and father. Please just tell me if they boarded the plane. He looked at the other worker in the tiny office. The other worker shrugged his shoulders, met my pleading gaze, then nodded. The first worker asked for my passport, my parents’ first names, and their flight information. He typed in a few items and pulled up a screen. “We have no reservation for them.” I stammered, Th- That’s not possible. I saw their tickets. I showed him a copy of their itinerary, with their reservation number. I suddenly realized the front page of my passport still shows my married name. Their last name is McLeese. M-C-L-E-E-S-E. Click, click, click. Yes, yes, two people. They boarded? They were actually on the flight? I smiled. Thank you so much for your help. Thank you.

As I left the tiny office, I thought to myself, Great. They may *be* in Beijing, but now I just have to *find* them. I took the escalator back down to International arrivals, again, scanning for a tall, silver haired, balding man. I spotted one in line at the currency exchange. I slowly walked closer, then double checked. Yes, it really was my father. Dude, what happened? It turned out they were last in line at Immigration. Their bags were last off the conveyer belt. The two add up to one late arrival. Mom was waiting with Mr. Li. I smiled as I approached with my father. I found them… We both laughed and headed outside, into the hot, hazy, noisy city of Beijing.