Love Goes to the Play

Audio By Carbonatix

We were sitting across from each other in two aisle seats on a flight from Georgia to Michigan. His gray suit and glasses gave him a distinguished air, but he seemed approachable too, so I struck up a conversation. As the two of us swapped airplane-chat across the aisle for a while, we discovered we had a few things in common. Both of us worked for non-profit organizations, both of us were married and had children, and both of us traveled a fair amount.

Over time, our conversation turned to the difficulty of juggling work and travel with family life. At one point, I shared that my business for the day was keeping me from a family event. (I can’t remember now what the event was because this happened years ago, but it’s fair to guess it had something to do with one of my kids and a T-ball game or basketball practice.) Upon hearing this, the gentleman began telling me a story. Some time earlier, he said, when his daughter was a teenager, she had tried out for the school play and had landed the lead role.

The girl was thrilled to bits about her upcoming performance, and her dad got pretty excited about it too. Pride swelled within him as he looked forward to Opening Night. He would picture his daughter, he told me, performing her heart out under the bright auditorium lights. But then he discovered the scheduling conflict. It was a commitment that had been put on his calendar two years earlier, he said. It was a business meeting, and he was expected to be there. As a key player in a large organization, his presence was nearly essential. And the all-important appointment was to take place on the evening of Opening Night. The man was crushed.

Some time later, he called for his daughter so they could have a talk. He told her he had good news. He had made some phone calls and had changed his schedule, he said, and she could expect him to be in the audience at her very first performance in the school play. Reflecting on that moment somewhere thousands of feet above Kentucky or Tennessee, the man across the aisle from me began to cry. As his eyes filled with tears, he explained how his little girl had wrapped her arms around his neck that night and hugged him tightly. “That moment changed our relationship,” he said. “My daughter saw her significance in my life.” The man wiped his cheeks, and his face relaxed into a look of relief. He had made the right decision; it was obvious he was convinced of it.

Suddenly I wished I were sitting on an aluminum bleacher somewhere, watching one of my kids play ball. It’s been years since I met that man on the airplane, but I haven’t forgotten the story he shared with me that day. I guess there’s something about witnessing real love that just sticks with you.

Real love isn’t what you get; it’s what you give. And giving real love isn’t about giving objects; it’s about giving of yourself. Real love is the kind of thing that waits longer than necessary. Real love offers somebody else the best place in line. It doesn’t cut another person down, and it doesn’t toot its own horn either. Real love doesn’t care who’s top dog. It speaks gently. It has a long fuse, and it’ll go to bat for someone. Real love wins—just ask the guy who was across the aisle on my flight out of Georgia, and he’ll tell you. He’ll also tell you love goes to the play.