Airport Man

My father worked for over 45 years in a small office. His real profession, however, was not advising his clients, but taking care of his family as a dad. When he turned 65, he retired. My sister and I left home a long time ago already. My mother just started working at the Airport in Zurich as a security staff member. Taking off belts, x-raying suitcases, confiscate sack knives, shampoo or perfume from people. In the first months after his retirement, my father was often alone at home. He now took care of the household with all his energy and enjoyed not working at the office any more.

While she stands at the X-ray machine, my father spends his time in the huge departure halls, the shops and cafés or on the visitors' terrace. He watches people, aeroplanes, drinks coffee and reads the newspaper for hours. On warm days he sunbathes in the patio restaurant. But the airport is normally not a place where you stay longer, it's more a constant arrival and departure. Although the pulsating life passes my father by, it seems to vitalize him. With shining eyes, he tells me about the big planes he has seen the other day or the quirky woman who was shouting through the parking lot. After some months, he knew places that not even airport employees know.