The hotel lobby. Early morning. The dining room is filled with people all eating complimentary breakfasts of plasticized food-like matter.

The demographic is mixed. Lots of middle-aged married couples. You can tell they’re married because they don’t speak except to mutter something random like, “Randy texted.” Then the couple will fall quiet again for another two, maybe three presidential administrations.

Also, there is a group of young professionals in the dining room. They are all dressed sharply. There are heavy cologne fumes emanating from their side of the room.

They are all on their devices, also not speaking. Thumbing away rapidly, like the fate of the Free World depends on whatever they’re doing.

But the real star of our dining room this morning is a young man. Late twenties. He is a big guy, with a bushy beard. He is wearing pajamas. And he has kids.

Two children, to be exact. One of them is a baby in a carrier. The other is a little boy, he is maybe 5.

Everyone in the dining room is minorly ticked off at the young father. Namely, because his baby is holding a rubber-encased iPad, blasting loud music which features a female voice singing explicit lyrics about what exactly the wheels on a school bus do.

His other child is also holding a device, which is playing some sort of superhero video, at high volume, with lots of yelling, laser sounds, and various explosions.

Now and again, one of the older people looks bitterly at this young man, then clears their throats in such a way that you can almost feel the hate rays coming from their eyeballs.

But the young dad looks too tired to care. He simply eats his breakfast.

Soon, people in the dining room are all exchanging looks.

“This is ridiculous,” I overhear one woman say to her husband.

“How inconsiderate,” murmurs another.

You can practically see what the other guests are thinking. “How can this guy be so oblivious?” “How can he be so rude?”

The middle-aged people eventually evacuate the room, storming off, but not before shooting daggers at the young man.

The young professionals also leave. They flash looks of extreme disapproval, briskly walking out of the room, clicking the heels of their shoes which probably cost more than my truck.

And the young man is left alone.

After a few minutes, a young woman enters the dining room. He stands when he sees her. They embrace for a long time. Longer than normal. And it looks like the young man is about to cry.

The young woman is holding him tightly, and they are rocking back and forth.

“Did you write it?” the young woman asks.

The man nods. “Yeah. But it’s not any good.”

“I’m sure it’s great.”

“I’ve never written one before,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get through it without completely breaking down.”

They hug again.

“You’re going to do great,” the young woman says, patting his back lightly. “It’ll be the best eulogy ever.”

They release.

Then, the young woman helps Dad gather his children, the devices, and the various artifacts of childhood. She is great with the kids. She tells the little boy, in a no-nonsense tone, it’s time to put his iPad away and get dressed.

“We have to wear black today?” asks the boy.

“Yes,” the young woman says. “We’re all wearing black.”

“Why?”

“Becuase,” says the young woman. “We’re all wearing black for your Mommy.”

“Why?” says the boy.

She lowers herself to the kid’s eye level. “Because it’s what your Mommy would want.”