Barcelona, April 27, 2011
At the Granada airport, those waiting to board the flight to Barcelona were asked to wait outside the terminal as the passengers on the incoming flight deplaned. I was at the front of the line and behind me was a young mother with her son, about two or three years old. He was excited as hell about getting on the plane and kept asking over and over when they could board. His mother patiently kept saying, soon, soon.
After about five minutes of waiting, the kid decides he needs to pee and so the mother does what any mother would do in a similar situation: she takes him behind a nearby hedge and pulls his pants down. And just as she does, the airline person signals for us to proceed to the plane.
We do. And the little peeing boy, his little pants down to his little knees and his little white butt exposed for all to see, notices. And he starts to scream, jumping up and down, his pee forming quick graceful arches and some of it falling in his clearly agitated mother. Some of it falls on him, but he keeps on screaming: ¡Quiero volar! ¡Quiero volar!
Mercifully, within seconds his little thing stops its flow and his mother is able to pull up his wet pants and together they run to catch up with the rest of us.
When he finally sets foot on the plane, he proclaims proudly, ¡Voy a volar! ¡Estoy en el avión!