One More Good Guy in a Bears Jersey

Despite our best efforts to check before we get out, we have left quite a few things in taxis over the years. This summer Mary left a bag containing two blown glass bugs that we had just purchased at an art fair, a huge loss considering they were handmade and very one of a kind. Her beloved doll Molly lost a fine pair of shoes a few months ago when she apparently kicked them off on the short ride downtown, to lunch at the American Girl store, and then had to suffer the indignity of lunch without shoes. A few years ago Mary left her brand new hand me down purse, a sassy red and white gingham sized just for her, in the back seat when we got out for dinner. The biggest lost there, other than my purse, was the treasures she had stored inside: a bracelet she made with buttons, an acorn from Michigan and a coin purse brought home from France by Uncle Ed. As always we hoped that the driver might find the purse and stop back at the restaurant where he dropped us, but he did not. It seems that what stays in the taxi, well, stays in the taxi.

But not always. Last week a man appeared in the library, a gruff looking guy wearing jeans and a Bears jersey. He smelled like smoke and looked like he was about to yell at me.

"Are you the librarian?"
"I am".
He handed me a book.
"I dropped off two kids here this morning, I think one of them left this in the back of my taxi".
"Really?"
"What? Is that a problem?"

No sir, no problem at all, something much more like shock, and gratitude.


It's a scramble each spring, a wild hunt for each overdue book, in hopes or reclaiming every one before the school year ends. Children transfer or move away, and their books go with them. Some just don't bother to return them, for reasons I will never understand.

My message is very clear: having a library is a privilege and these books are here for everyone. If you take a book and don't return it, you are preventing your friends from enjoying that book. Libraries provide a wonderful lesson in community and sharing, in responsibility, and in taking care of things that belong not just to one but to all.

Great thanks to the stranger who took the time to do what so many do not, return a library book. What a decent guy.

Where Everybody Knew Our Names

For Kate it was always a scrambled egg, toast and hash browns. Mary stuck with pancakes, occasionally switching from silver dollar to full size, and back again. It was our every lazy Saturday breakfast spot, and the place the girls always chose to begin their birthday. We knew the servers, and the busboy, all of whom spoke Spanish and were more than willing to listen patiently while Kate ordered "huevos revueltos y leche por favor".

After almost 40 years in business on the same corner, Arnold's closed last week. The economy is the given reason, in a short note on the door thanking their loyal customers, but I suspect that Mr. and Mrs. Arnold might like some rest, maybe a lazy Saturday themselves at a local diner. We'll allow them that, although we'll miss them terribly. This was the place I assumed we would visit when the girls were home on break their freshman year, twelve short years from now.

Arnold and Mrs. Arnold bought raffle tickets for the school auction and pledged money to support the girls at the annual walk-a-thon. One year, when Kate opened a birthday card, minus the five dollar bill that had been in Mary's, Mrs. Arnold dashed over with a quick replacement to cover the oversight. They introduced Mary and Kate to other customers, reminding most that the girls had been eating there since before they were born, and each year hung our Christmas card photograph on the old cash register, to the squealy delight of the six year old breakfast lovers.

Mrs. Arnold took her plants, the pictures that once covered the east wall have been removed and the singles connection board, right next to the counter, is empty. We'll look for the holiday decorations in November, the painted windows that were the early mark of the season, but rather than poinsettias, we'll find darkness. The old soda fountain, clearly installed for the grand opening, may appeal to someone interested in a retro looking greasy spoon, but more likely, our quirky neighborhood diner will become a Chase or Fifth Third Bank. There isn't one of those for at least two blocks, next to the Starbucks, right across from the Currency Exchange.

It's true, people in the city can be curt and impatient. This is not Mayberry, the place I wanted to live most when I was a child growing up in an anonymous suburb. Far from, this is a dense, and sometimes grimy, city. But in our neighborhood, one full of interesting and dynamic people who ride the bus, play at the park and eat breakfast together, we look for places like Arnold's, and the people who make us feel welcome every time we walk in the door. Eggs over medium and rye toast, served with amazing speed and genuine kindness, that's just not something you find on every corner.

Giving Back

It's important to me that the girls learn to give back. Clothes that no longer fit are packed up and sent off to their younger cousins, or given to Balbina for her granddaughter. We go through toys and donate those that they have outgrown or no longer play with (of course for a brief minute they are convinced that they will now play with everything in the give away pile) and books that are deemed to young are given to the book drive at the cupcake shop.

We include them in our philanthropy, explaining donations and volunteering, and asking that that they help once a month in making sandwiches to be distributed to the homeless at church. The sandwiches made by Mary and Kate are surely among the most popular, each exploding with ham and turkey and cheese, the bread barely able to contain the stuffing within. They try to understand just who will eat these huge sandwiches, asking a question every time they load on a slice of meat or cheese, "so these people don't have a kitchen?", or "these are for the people who live in the alley?". As they struggle to understand I struggle to explain, all part of my effort in helping them to appreciate their place in a much larger world.

Yesterday they discovered a very small pair of socks, formerly white but now a dismal gray with a worn scalloped edge, under their dresser. They were covered in dog hair and dust bunnies, having almost black heels and a large red stain, possibly tomato sauce; a sad reminder to scoot a broom under the dresser every year or so. Kate held them up for all to see, "ooh! yuck, where did you find those?".

"Mom, we should give these to Eli! He's bigger now, he's four, these might be his size, let's send them to Eli, he might need some new socks".

Lucky guy.

Pride

For the first time I hesitated, not sure we should take the girls to Sunday's Pride parade. They've been every year, enjoying the music (although Kate firmly holds her ears when the very loud thump thump floats pass by), the color and the scenery. Last year there were a few questions but we prefaced the outing with a conversation about this parade being a chance for people to get together and just be silly, so we came back to that in our answers. But this year could be different, they are completely in tune and question everything. There was no way I was ready to answer these questions.

But Sunday was a beautiful day, sunny and warm, but not at all hot, and the best place to be outside was the parade so off we went, having a very similar conversation to last year on the walk down. It was crowded, from our shoulders the girls could only see the biggest and most extravagant floats; loud music and bright colors were everywhere, delightful to a four year old. "Mom! That man is wearing a bathing suit!", right then, that's no bathing suit but from this vantage point, why not? "Mom! Pink flamingos!", "Mom, rainbows everywhere!". We didn't last long, turns out it does get a bit warm, even with a lovely lake breeze, when holding a 35 pound toddler on your head.

There were no questions, not one. On the walk home I struggled to find the antonym for alternative, Jack suggested mainstream. The reality is that the parade represents nothing to my children, nothing beyond dancing and music and adults in bathing suits in the middle of the day. Some of the people they love most lead a commonly defined alternative lifestyle but to Mary and Kate there is nothing alternative about it; at four they have not yet assigned the labels we insist upon having.

This will change, soon enough they will find that this parade does in fact represent something to many, it is important and it is something to be celebrated. But for now they live with a wonderfully naive understanding that it's really alright to love just about anyone.

Do Not Litter, Please

Of the millions of things I hope to impress upon the children, Do Not Litter is right at the top of the list. It seems so basic, please don't throw your garbage on the ground, but for reasons unknown to me this simple concept seems lost on many. We wade through the garbage left behind at the park, on the bus, and at the baseball game. Earlier this week we picked up a discarded Bud Light can at the zoo, presumably not left behind by the polar bears. The idea is simple really but the lesson far greater, if you don't pick this up then who will?

Teaching the girls not to litter teaches them respect for the environment yes, but also respect for their community, their neighbors and their friends. Not littering reminds them that the world is a very big place and they are responsible for their own spot amongst many. It's a lesson in continuity, of generations before and generations to come. Making the effort to find a garbage can (which can sometimes be challenging) is a lesson in community (and government), and scooping up a newspaper left behind by someone else reinforces the importance of working together for a greater good, and gives us an opportunity to find the blue recycling bin.

And really, why should anyone have to play on a beach with this bobbing in the water?

I Want You, I Need You

Junior Achievement put me back into an elementary school classroom for one morning a week in the banking years. JA is a wonderful program that partners with the business community, stocking local schools with volunteers, offering real world business experience to every grade level. For several years I headed east, into the more challenging schools, to spend my morning with witty children, some eager to learn and some eager to take a break from their usual morning routine. I'm certain I was supposed to come away from this experience with a renewed purpose, a profound sense of my role in the community and a illuminated view of life in an inner city school. Right, got that, but so much more, a respect for very silly children in days when I just didn't spend enough time with anyone under the age of 20.

Generally I opted for the first and second grade, programming geared towards neighborhoods and families. One day the curriculum had us discussing home and what that meant to the children. With a stern head jerk I was reprimanded by the teacher, not all these children live in a traditional home, some live with their grandparents, some with foster parents and some in shelters. She was new, JA and I were prepared, we'd done this before. What followed was a really beautiful discussion about what makes a home, and not one child required a yard or a plasma television or granite counter tops. Although one little boy hoped that one day his mom could get a car so he could stop taking the bus everywhere, it was cold and being a bus rider myself, I sympathized.

In another class we did a project differentiating between needs and wants. "Who can give me an example of a need?", shoes and housing, yes, microwave popcorn, no. "And now a want, what is something we want?", the list was long, and funny, and then Michael, from the back of the room shouted "A husband, she wants a husband!". Uproarious laughter amongst the seven year old crowd, a smirky smile from me, "No, she NEEDS a husband", this time from the front of the class, and a girl no less. Clarification on my part, you are correct, I am not married but I do not want or need a husband, thank you. "Now, something I do want, a vacation", and again from Michael, "she means a honeymoon!", and with that I lost complete control, probably because I was now laughing as hard as they were.

When I got back to the office I stopped in to visit with a co-worker, someone who also volunteered with JA, knowing he would find this scenario hilarious, and he did. And then two years later I married him, and we went on a honeymoon, and while I didn't really need him, I did find that life was more pleasant when he was around, just as a want should be.