E-Train to JFK, 11:48am: A Latino son with his mother. They pull out several candies and Ziploc bags, filling each with the various treats.

Gate 29, Terminal 5, JFK, 14:17: Before boarding planes, I usually do a small exercise regiment before I sit down for several hours: 25 squats, 50 push-ups, 20 full-body sit ups, downward dog. At times, I was self-conscious about this, aware that people were watching and judging as through I were “showing off.” But really, it’s just me preparing to sit. Now, I just don’t care. A 4-year-old girl. “Mommy. What is he doing?” “He’s exercising?” “Exercising?” She stares at me and I smile. “Why is he exercising?” “I’m about to sit down for four hours. It gets my blood flowing.” The other adults in the terminal laugh, seeing that I’m not some hopped up brute, but actually a damn nice dude. “I want to exercise.” “Well, you have to finish your hot dog.” She hands the food to her mother, and joins me on the carpet. “Can you do a jumping jack?” I do a jumping jack. She starts to hop around like a bunny. “Jump. Jump. Jump!” “Can you turn?” I jump in the air and turn 180 degrees. She begins to turn. “Turn. Turn. Turn!” I jump and bring my knees to my chest in mid air. She tries to do the same. “Good job!” I give her a high five. The people in the terminal are smiling. I grab my bags as they are calling my boarding group. I hear her say, “Mommy. I exercise!”