Years, Tears, and Tides... Part Three

When I'm on vacation or a getaway, I try to make the most of each minute and hour of every day, sometimes to the chagrin of my companions. I always have an itinerary. Life is a banquet and I hate missing meals. 

     An hour or so after the 'Itis laid me out, I jumped up on a mission. I could still taste the oxtails on my lips, but I needed an ice cold beer. I went into the living room of our suite and realized I wasn't the only victim. Junebug was cocooned under the covers, her head being the only thing visible.

      I watched her sleep for a few minutes, feeling nostalgic. I remembered the first time I watched her sleep, twenty-five years ago, when I was a scared new father.  Scenes played on the movie reel in my head, causing my allergies to make my eyes water. 

     I woke her up, because it was Happy Hour. I stay at Hilton brand hotels because they have Happy Hour nightly and a full breakfast. Thank me later. Once downstairs we grabbed two or three drinks apiece, just to get our night started. We toasted to us, to new beginnings, and to the ties that bind. A good way to start a Saturday night. 

     An hour or so later, we were cruising on 285, listening to T.I., with the windows down. We'd been invited to a party by a friend/classmate/ and fierce Words with Friends competitor, Fran. She'd assured me that we would be comfortable at the house party where other ex-Chicagoans would be gathered. 

     Fran was absolutely right. While I didn't know everybody at the party, we knew the same people, and the feeling of kinship caused me to simply relax and enjoy myself. I was amongst my tribe, bound together by 63rd Street, Hyde Park High School, Chicago, and house music. Thanks Tony, Dave, and Gary for making us feel at home.

       Junebug interacted in the conversations, adding a youthful flavor to an over forty crowd. Then she engaged a few ladies in a conversation about books, stories, and writers. And she talked about her Daddy.

       I try not to talk about my stories, blogs, books, etc., because I don't want to feel boastful or as if I'm better or different than anyone else. Junebug talked about my stories and books, and she was so animated, pulling my profile up on Amazon, and maybe gaining me a few new fans. 

      As she talked, a feeling came over me that I had never thought about before. I watched my grown-up daughter talking about her Daddy's achievenents, and I realized something. My daughter is proud of me, and proud to be my daughter. Life doesn't get too much better than that...