Four

Mary woke up a four year old on Tuesday. She had been counting down the months, then weeks, then days till her birthday since around Uncle Adam's birthday in September.

She usually calls me in the morning to get her out of bed, but as she turned four at exactly 7:20 AM, she walked down the stairs to get her hug, breakfast, and confirmation that today was in fact the day.

Proud of her newfound, more senior status, she ate all of the pancakes I had made for breakfast. Before getting dressed, Daddy let her open a couple presents; a giant tattooed Maui and a more diminutive Moana doll. Then I surprised her with a new party dress for school; something to make her feel extra special in front of her class.

As I walked into Pre-School with her, I checked to make sure nothing had appeared on my calendar in the last ten minutes, assuring myself that it was okay to indulge in her day as well. About six inches of snow had fallen the night before. While local traffic was moving at a steady pace, the routine jams that snake their way from the suburbs to the city were at a stand still. As the commuters in higher offices sat in their cars, things on my calendar magically disappeared.

So I got to see Mary crowned birthday queen, and then sat down in the rocking chair on the edge of the carpet, Mary at my side, her classmates all around us. I read Mary's choice of story for the day: Moana; the Little Golden adaptation of the movie that she and Bobby adore. I read it with dramatic effect and the kids stared in awe at the fantastic images of coconut pirates, a monster crab and a lava monster.

At the end, an announcement rang out over the school's loudspeaker. It was Mary's birthday today! She blushed with pride and nuzzled into my arm as her classmates joined in singing 'happy birthday to you.'

Next, she got to unveil what she put in her 'Me Box,' the school's branded version of show and tell within the constraints of a container that might have carried stationary at one point in time. She was supposed to pick three of her favorite things, but naturally she reached for more when stuffing it. In it were:

• Ballet slippers 
• A miniature toy horse
• A photo of her family at the top of the Pittsburgh incline and another one of her hugging Snow White at Disney World 
• The pink rosary that Aunt Erin gave her for her Baptism 
• And a little paper book that Peter had made her when she was about 18 months old. 

She proudly took each item out of her box and explained their significance in her life, then passed them around the circle for her classmates to inspect a little closer.

I left shortly afterward to head to work. Mary still had a birthday smile plastered on her face, which she would keep until I returned home that evening.

Peter and I took just her out to dinner on Tuesday night. She wore her new dress and the birthday crown she was given at school. She requested sushi, so sushi she got. She ate almost all of her California Roll while I longingly looked at Peter's Hamachi and settled on my choice. She asked for another present, which she was granted when we returned home. Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo! She was Cinderella until bedtime.

Something just clicked for Mary this year; and that is that birthdays are a big deal. She saturated herself in every second of attention, greeting of 'happy birthday', and gift received.

A couple days later, as more thoughtful gifts came in the mail, Peter and I discussed how she had been acting out, that her birthday had almost gotten the better of her. I lectured her about appreciation, sharing, and eliminating her whiny tone of voice. She understood. She told Eva on Friday that when she grew up she was going to give all her toys to the poor kids. We were getting somewhere. But when Nana and Opa arrived on Friday night she went straight for the gift, and then asked Aunt Dee Dee where her present was. The points of the lecture were reinforced.

Saturday brought her party, our house transformed into a romper room, I saw Emma, and Andrew, and MJ, and a leprechaun, and Mary, cake, and ice cream, and a plastic present explosion in our sunroom.

Being four, having a birthday, inviting your whole class to a party, and opening a room full of presents is pretty amazing. And as a parent, it's hard to put it all into perspective for your little girl. Until it's time to clean up, move on, and get back to the routine, which includes sharing everything you just received.

Minus a couple moments of selfishness over the past week, I'm very proud of my four year old. Mary is a good girl, a loving girl, and a smart girl. And just as her Me Box selections described, she continues to keep her favorite things top of mind: faith and family, creativity and curiosity, a belief in a little magic and a mandate of inclusiveness.

And as for all of the presents ... we'll have to save some of them for a rainy day.

Lo. 

Dan and Kerry and Everyone Else

When I drove 40 miles north west of Charlotte, North Carolina, I saw a shack with a solo smoker out front, two storied locals were sitting beside it waiting for a passerby to pull over for their legendary BBQ. I saw pick up trucks with confederate bumper stickers, billboards advertising Jesus, just Jesus. I counted the number of different fried chicken destinations at every mile marker, wondering how mine was going to break through. I saw ads for gun shops and gun shows, scratch made biscuits, sweet tea, NASCAR, and beach chairs for sale on the side of the road.

A couple hundred miles further north, as I drove to and through Ripley, West Virginia, I saw rolling hills gradually growing into mountains. I saw forests populated with nothing more than deer hunters and their prey. I smelled gravy, spied camouflage, and heard rural poverty speak with a particular twang. I wondered how median household incomes of $20,000 can keep the Bob Evans, gas station, church, Holiday Inn Express, and McDonald's in town in business. And I soaked up the enthusiasm of hopeful young cheerleaders on the road to Disney World and a way out.

Thousands of miles south west, in Phoenix, Arizona, I saw purple mountains, cacti soaking up the desert sun, and hikers who knew every rock on Squaw Peak. I saw baseball stadiums, an enthusiastic network of fans who had arrived for the season, and the ball signed by Kris Bryant that Peter brought home from a game. I saw signs for Masses in English and Spanish and sensed wall lovers and wall haters. I rubbed lotion on my bronze son, and doubled up on my sunburned daughter. I felt the spirits of golden age movie stars, past presidents and a legendary architect and his sprites around the property of the Biltmore Hotel.

Back home in Chicagoland, I was once again greeted by a blue flat landscape interrupted only by some of the tallest buildings in the country starkly standing in defiance of nature. I saw the cold waters of Lake Michigan and a river waiting for its green dye. I drove by the remnants of a prairie that used to cover the state, through traffic and beside the trains trying to beat it. I sat down at my cube for a second, then rushed around with the rest of the hardworking people in my office. I thought about deep dish pizza, hot dogs, Fannie May, Rahm, and an Irish tradition that brings the divides of a big city together.

All the way to the northeast, Philadelphia was filled with historic markers, cheese steaks, and angry Eagles fans. I saw Abraham Lincoln presiding over the Union League's elite members and diverse city sidewalks slick from the melting snow. I looked up at William Penn who was staring down at Benjamin Franklin's parkway. I ran up the Rocky steps and saluted the statue that protects them. I danced to Neil Diamond and his band, I put on my robe at the Ritz and had a Bellini. I walked into Saint Augustine on Fourth Street and watched one of my favorite couples saying 'I do' in front of a congregation that characterized the city's branded brotherly love.

It was in Philly, my last stop of the week, that my friends, Dan and Kerry, brought together people from Seattle to South Bend, Amarillo to Austin, Denver to Detroit, and the Big Apple to the Big Shoulders; they brought together bankers and branders, cattlemen and car men, skiers and the doctors that take care of their knees, high tech companies and their instruments of obstruction, an Army ranger and an Air Force man, darling little cousins and their daring 94 year old Aunt Eleanor, proud parents, a little sister who's world was her big sister, and an eloquent and authentic best man who brought everyone together.

    

During the blessing before the meal, the priest described the elaborate banquet at the perfectly themed Union Club as a reflection of the heavenly one we await. And as I reflect on my week that took me on eight flights, through five states, and back and forth between three time zones, the priests comments reinforce how much we need people like Dan and Kerry and events like their wedding to bridge the sometimes polarizing credos we carry, from coast to coast, from left to right to those of us that stay firmly in the center. 

Dan and Kerry - I wish you a lifetime of happiness filled with all that I experienced this weekend: great music and electric dance floors, steaks for dinner and dessert, champagne and the bourbon after, schooners, skiers, stages, love, laughter, and family and friends that will always be there for you.

Lo.