Say, say my playmate
Come out and play with me
and bring your dollies three
Climb up my apple tree.
Shout down my rain barrel
Slide down my cellar door
And we'll be jolly friends
Forever more . . . more . . . more
I quickly jotted down a note to myself in my journal, reminding me to write about this little song when I got home. Why later? I didn't want to take my attention away from what I was watching.
Looking back, I write . . .
When I was returning from Maine, my flight was cancelled; the next flight meant a 4 hour wait. I would be waiting in the Bangor International Airport terminal. To put BIA in perspective, think of Orville and Wilbur Wright. It was the weekend following July 4th, and the tiny terminal was packed -- packed with a whole bunch of people not very happy about flights being cancelled or delayed. There was a lot of grumbling.
In one section of seats sat a grandmother and, I presume, her two granddaughters. The children looked to be 5 and 7 years old. The three of them were oblivious to the sea of frayed nerves surrounding them. The little girls began to sing the children's song I wrote down above. Along with singing they were doing the hand clapping game that goes with it.
They completely changed the atmosphere and attitude in the terminal. Everyone turned, watched, and listened to the little girls sing. Smiles broke out on faces, everyone quit talking, except for the comments about the children, "I haven't heard that little song in 40 years . . . I miss my grandchildren . . . To be a child again!"
The little girls sang a song that brought joy to a group of passengers whose disposition was more inclined to begin the droning song, 99 bottles of beer on the wall . . . 99 bottles of beer . . ."
You've just got to write about that kind of stuff!