Thankfulness

It's that time of year again.

You know what I mean. It is the time of year when being thankful rises to the top of our consciousness and we actually stop and count our blessings, instead of merely rushing past them on the way to something or somewhere else.

I have many Thanksgiving thoughts and memories, and some of them may (may, I say) make their way into a post on the Day itself. But I just experienced something - not for the first time, I might add - that always makes me thankful beyond words.

The experience? Two and a half hours with my stepdaughter, Elizabeth. She just left with her dad to go to Scouts.

Elizabeth is well on her way to being 16, a sophomore in high school. She was 13 and in seventh grade when her parents separated, almost 15 and in ninth grade before she saw her father on a regular (i.e., an established and adhered to schedule) basis again. (Comment: someone - not Warren - behaved very, very badly during the lengthy divorce process when it came to the children.) There were many times during that whole time when what little contact or information Warren had about Elizabeth was along the lines of "I hate you" or "I don't want to see you." After it was over and we were married, she was not hostile or ugly towards me, but she made it very, very clear without ever opening her mouth that she would prefer if I did not exist.

What a long ways we have come.

Elizabeth spent much of this evening before supper talking with me - sharing her day, reviewing her knowledge of Ohio driving law (a learner's permit is in the offing), talking about tap dance (Elizabeth loves to dance), exclaiming over Scouting requirements (she is in Venturing, the co-ed program of the Boy Scouts), and just giggling and laughing. She spent a huge portion of it sprawled out on the couch, furrowing her brow over traffic signs, looking at her Scouting requirements, and sharing bits of information with me.

She is a great young lady.

I am thankful that Elizabeth is in my life and that she made the decision to let me be in hers. The turning point came last December when after a particularly chilly and stressful evening, I told Warren he could take his kids home in the truck while I walked home from the nearby party because I was too tired of trying to be pleasant with Elizabeth. I don't think Warren said a lot to her on the way home, other than "April is my wife and in this home, you will be nice to her. You don't have to like her, but you will be nice."

Bless her heart, Elizabeth went way beyond that. The next day, while Warren was running errands and I was busy in the family room trying to stay out of her way, she sought me out, sat down, and started talking - first about dance, then about how ballet slippers are made (taking an old pair apart to show me), then about school, then about something else, and then something else, and then something else.

I remember sitting there holding my breath, afraid the moment would evaporate. It didn't and neither did Elizabeth.

She has not closed me out since then. Sometimes I get the same brusque teenage treatment that Warren gets, but we get it together when she is feeling her age. I have never again felt singled out (or ignored entirely) because I married her dad.

I am thankful for lots of things - not just during this season, but (I hope) most days. Warren and my boys are on the top of that list, as are Alise, my almost daughter-in-law, and David, my stepson. My friends are close behind.

Elizabeth, though, occupies a special place on that list. I never had a daughter. I don't pretend that I am her mother; I'm not. But I am thrilled and delighted and, above all, thankful to have this amazing, wonderful, funny, engaging stepdaughter who somewhere, somehow, made the decision to dance into my life.

All Our Daughters

I returned late last night from four days in Chicago. It was cold, windy, rainy, and glorious.

I spent the time in ways I had not anticipated before leaving. The short version is this, for those who read my post last week: Lindsay and I did not go chasing down the ghosts of the 1893 Columbian Exposition (although Warren and I were lucky enough to catch sight of a small piece of it - a ticket booth - in, of all places, Oak Park). Lindsay and I did walk for miles on Friday, after we finally met up. (This is not an exaggeration. We walked from the Congress Plaza Hotel to Buckingham Fountain, then along the lakefront to Navy Pier, then to the Tribune Tower and back up Michigan Avenue to the Palmer House. That's 4.4 miles, for those of you counting.)

There were many great Chicago moments, despite the cold and the rain. I attended two days of the national conference of the League of American Orchestras, where I heard and saw some amazing performances and I participated in some impassioned roundtables about the value of music. Warren and I had a wonderful walk around Oak Park our first night in town, followed by a late evening League reception in the stunning new Modern wing of the Chicago Art Institute. Just walking through the Impressionism galleries en route to the reception was celebration enough. While waiting for Lindsay on Friday, I had the tremendous luck to arrive on the University of Chicago campus just as commencement was ending, which means I got to see and hear the bagpipe recessional while all the bells of Rockefeller Chapel - no small assortment - pealed.

But the lasting memory of this trip will be my Saturday morning with Lindsay and Stephanie and the wonder and delight of seeing the adults our daughters are becoming.

I use the phrase "our daughters" loosely, because I have two sons. My experience raising girls, until very recently, has been largely vicarious. But it has been a rich vicarious experience over the years. When it comes to Lindsay and Stephanie, I have known them since their childhood as both were classmates and friends of my older son, Ben. I have known Lindsay since she was five, Stephanie since she was seven. I have been fortunate beyond words to watch them navigate childhood, adolescence, college, and, now, young adulthood.

Stephanie moved to Chicago last year, after graduating from college. Lindsay had let her know we were coming to the city; Stephanie joined the three of us Friday night for a concert at Millennium Park and dinner afterwards. We had so much fun talking that she suggested Lindsay and I meet her Saturday morning to see her neighborhood farmers market and share a cup on coffee.

Stephanie lives on a quiet side street in Lincoln Park on the north side, not far from the lake. From the bus stop, you stroll down a tree-lined street filled with late 19th and early 20th century Chicago-style apartment buildings. Her apartment is in an early 20th century yellow brick with the original interior woodwork still intact. We arrived to find Stephanie's cousin Susannah, who was in Chicago for the weekend. (I have known Susannah for many years as well, and she too had turned into a young adult while my back was turned.) Despite rain, we headed off to the farmers market, several blocks away. We walked and talked; Susannah and I discussed sustainable local agriculture (of deep interest to us both) while Stephanie and Lindsay caught up from when they had last seen each other.

Susannah had other places she needed to be, so she left as the three of us made our way back to Stephanie's apartment. It being lunchtime, we all eschewed a proper meal for Molly's Cupcakes instead. Over cupcakes and milk, the three of us talked for the next two hours.

It was a wonderful give and take, primarily between Stephanie and Lindsay, of where they are in their respective lives and where they see the future going. Stephanie talked about the adventures of being in pharmaceutical marketing, of being young and single in a city as vibrant as Chicago, and of her hopes and dreams. Lindsay, who has taken a year off after college and is presently deciding whether to attend graduate school or start a career, spoke of the soaring feeling of being young with so many choices laid out before her, and of her hopes and dreams. School, where to live, travel, salaries, dating, jobs, careers, marriage, children, lifestyles now and in the future - everything was offered up for conversation.

I watched them light up, grow serious, or break into laughter while they talked. It was one of those beautiful and glowing moments that shimmer and hang in the air.

It was two hours before we all realized we still had other obligations for the day. Stephanie hugged me hard, thanking me for coming to see her; she and Lindsay made plans to meet later.

Lindsay and I grabbed an El downtown so she could get her car and I could meet up with Warren and head back home. When we got back down to the Loop, we hugged goodbye. Lindsay was excited about what the evening held with Stephanie and her friends; she thanked me for inviting her to join us in Chicago and show her a slice of the city. I thanked her: she gave me a gift by sharing my favorite city with me.

As Warren and I headed to the Skyway, I tried to convey the magic of the cupcake lunch. I was talking so fast my words tumbled over themselves, relating my wonder of hearing these two sing a beautiful duet of youth and hope and Life. I have been turning it over in my head and heart ever since, trying to capture it on paper and knowing I am only putting down fleeting glimpses.

You had to be there.

Both Stephanie's and Lindsay's moms are longtime friends of mine. I am writing each a note telling them what they already know: that their daughters have grown into beautiful, thoughtful, bright, funny young women. They are filled with the dreams and talents and hopes that I would think all of us would wish for all our daughters, indeed, for all our children.

I have been blessed to be a small part of Stephanie's and Lindsay's lives and watch their transformation from girlhood to womanhood. I cannot wait to see what their futures hold.