When I was probably 16, maybe 15 I had a long layover due to delays and cancelations at London Heathrow, where I connected for a short hop to the north of England. I flew alone going between parents. I was in Terminal 5, for those who know it youll probably know the area well, but for those who aren't basically T5 is a long building with security and a couple restaurants and shops on the second floor, more shops and places to sit on the main floor, then elevators down to the shuttles. Tucked behind the restaurants and shops is a long stretch with some seats that look out the windows at the planes and all that. I found a seat and hunkered down for the long haul with a sandwich and soda. I think it was something like 8 or 9 hours. Not long after an elderly man, Id guess 70's or 80's comes and takes a seat nearby, basically a small walkway sized gap between our seats.

I remember him reading for a while. I kept my power converter at my moms house so I couldn't charge my stuff, so I had nothing to do. Wasn't that bad though, so much time spent traveling I'd learned to people watch and just enjoy watching the world go by. After what must have been an hour or two this man looks my way and says "Bored?" I respond, don't remember what but it spurred him to say "Would you like to play checkers?"

I said sure and moved to sit by him, the seats were set up with a seat, then a plastic table, then a seat so he pulls out a board and his pieces from his bag and sets them all up. I remember him breaking the ice with a joke along the lines "Most people say checkers is the stupid man's chess, I say chess is the boring man's checkers."

We began playing and talking, at first simple stuff like names, where we were heading, how our previous flights had been, but then the talk began going deeper. He began telling me stories about being a child in England during world War 2. What it was like having mom wake you up to run down to the shelter. He told me about what they ate, how rationing worked, we talked and joked a lot about Dads Army and how he always loved it because his dad was part of his local group, and how looking back he could see how rag tag they were.

We played for hours and he checks the time, says he has time for one last game before going to catch his flight. As we played that last game he told me a story, he said (not verbatim, I'm piecing together what I remember as best I can.) "Do you know why I always carry a checkers board? Well when I was little and we had to go down the shelter we had a board down there. Mum and dad would take turns challenging me to a game so I wouldn't think about what might happen to us, or in the worst of times to move my mind from the sounds and shaking. It became my way to forget. Whenever the train runs late, or you dont want to leave the pub for fear of what awaits at home, you can always find someone who knows how to play checkers." That really stuck with me. He could have just invested in the books and ignored the world, but he saw that such a simple game could lead to a far more enjoyable experience, and that it was both simple enough and well known that you'd easily find a partner.

Anyways I packed up my stuff as he packed up the board, I still had a good hour or so but I wasnt going to let the guy carry his own bag. He'd helped a kid forget the boredom, least I could do was carry a bag. I walked him to the trams and we said farewell, and he handed me the bag of Haribo we'd been sharing.

That man was just one of those people you never forget. Ive met many people who I shared brief moments of life with inside airports, none I ever kept contact with, but he's the only one I regret not knowing longer, though I think that adds to the magic of it all. Its one of the many airport stories guaranteed to make me smile when I think back. I, a 15/16 year old Californian had the chance to sit down and chat for hours with a man who had experienced more than me by the time he was 10. I took it for granted at the time, I feel honored by it now. I dont know if the wife he spoke of was alive and well or had passed us by then. I dont know if the children he spoke of were the type to stay close or who took him for granted. I dont know a lot. But I know he was kind, I know he liked to laugh, I know he was good at checkers and liked to play the black pieces, and I know he liked the coke bottle haribos but not the bears. I know that he lived through bombings in his hometown. I know that he spent nights curled up against his mother using checkers to avoid fear. I know that he'd found that life was better shared, even if you share it with a stranger in passing.

Harrold was his name. And Harrold kicked the ever living shit out of me in checkers. Harrold was a good man, and regardless of where he is now, he'll always have a home in my heart and mind. I think of him the same way I think of my family.