The man looked about 40. He smiled as he stood up in the airport terminal. Something, maybe it was how his eyes roamed without focus, or the way he took cautious, little steps, told me that he needed assistance. He soon received it, as a grey-haired man who I suspected is his father, stood and took his arm into the crook of his own. The two of them, wearing similar plaid button-ups, tucked into their jeans, walked off arm-in-arm toward the bathrooms.