The Kids Aren't The Same

Gabriel García Márquez wrote that a person would know that they had become old when even the simplest things were told as a story. As an old person, then, I’d like to introduce you all to someone by way of a story. Back in December 2018, my priest sent an unassuming email message to me about a young man who was ready for a permanent family. A fellow parishioner had been mentoring the youth for a few years and was hoping that a member of our church family might be willing to  give the foster parent role a try. Would I be willing to meet them, the good reverend wanted to know, if only to let the Holy Spirit do what it might? I met Patrick a few days later, at a Christmas concert, where his sponsor Linda had brought him so that we all could meet. We went downstairs afterwards for dinner. We made small talk. About ten minutes into the conversation, I asked Patrick if he knew why I was there. "Yes," he said, "you want to be my foster dad." How did he feel about that...

The Episcopal liturgy is history lesson, poetry, and a celebration. Within it, we are called - literally - to acknowledge God, the world around us, and the people next to us. The liturgy does not waste opportunities. My favorite part of our service is the confession of sin. I know that may seem sanctimonious at best or creepy at worst, so want to focus on this phrase tucked into the confession: "and by what we have left undone." That line comes immediately after the confession of sins that had been committed ("by what we have done"). Committed sins are pretty easy to manage. They happened. We can quantify them -- remember those Seven Deadlies? -- because they are real: the hoarding of toys, the hurling of insults, the hatred of the Other. These we can picture in our minds, offer up an apology to God, along with a promise to learn from the mistake. Check the box. Breathe with relief. A sin not done? That is another story. It's where this story begins. "...

This is a wicker duck carrying a small garden of succulents in its back. I did not buy this duck. This duck was a gift. An unexpected gift from one of my student employees whose last day with us was yesterday. She has finished her classes, clubs, and internships -- y les hizo a sus padres, inmigrantes de México, el mar de orgulloso de ella -- so will graduate in two weeks. I cried on receiving the duck. She went wide-eyed and mortified on realizing t hat she had given a duck to someone named Donald. Then we both laughed. Looking at my wicker duck, the disappointments and heartbreaks recede away from the certainty that the joy one earns along the path of serving others is always worth the risks. My (now former) employee will experience her own ups and downs in the life that stretches out in front of her. No doubt, on one day when she needs it most, someone will give her her own wicker duck.

While talking to a person at the coffee shop this morning about their dog (who had heterochromia -- two differently colored eyes), they mentioned having recently moved back to Chicago. I said "welcome home," and then realized a moment after it left my lips that I had meant it.

Wow, what an incredible election here in Chicago. My city council representative: lesbian (and of color) My mayor: lesbian (and of color) My state representative: lesbian Lots of people would ask why a person's sexual orientation matters. And I would respond: because we live in a culture when and where it fucking does. The twenty year old version of myself couldn't fathom ever having a single LGBT elected representative. Now, the forty year old version of me gets to enjoy having *three.* Lots of people of all ages get to look at Chicago's elected officials without seeing a barrier to success due to their identity. This is the kind of miracle that many people prayed and worked to achieve. I'm going to enjoy it to the depth of my very bones. I'm thrilled to be a part of this journey along with the next mayor of Chicago, Lori Lightfoot.

My neighbors across the hall are students from Saudi Arabia. Siblings, in fact, I learned on chatting with the brother one morning having stopped while walking in different directions to acknowledge each other's existence. The sister and I had bumped into each other repeatedly in the morning, as her commute schedule matched up with Ryu's early walk. They both were students but not at Loyola. I asked both - at different times, as I rarely saw them together - about coming over to my side of the hallway for tea. Both said yes. They turned out to be really lovely young people. The sister is in an advanced program studying respiratory therapist. The brother is studying English at an immersion academy. Both were/are fans of Japanese animation. This fun bit of personal trivia came out of the brother noticing the Sailor Moon art books on my bookshelf. I admitted to them that anime fans from Saudi Arabia had never occurred to me given the kingdom's, uh -- distinct, perspective on ...

The Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México (UNAM) has a campus in Chicago. Who knew?! I saw an announcement in Facebook about a public lecture being held there in a few weeks. The topic was the Spanish exile to Mexico after the defeat of the republican government in Madrid. This was strongly relevant to my interests of 20th Century Ibero-American history. Javier joined me at the event, despite his relative disinterest in the topic. The lecture presented us both the opportunity to dress up a bit and perhaps meet interesting people. It would turn out that only the first part happened. The lecture material was pretty interesting, though the presentation itself put one to sleep. Reading a powerpoint presentation ought to be prohibited outright. Powerpoint makes everyone doze off, keeping themselves awake by looking at their phones. Someone at Microsoft should develop a anti-Powerpoint. Anyway... I felt proud for understanding the vast majority of what the lecturer was saying. It was all...