My Kind of Town, Chicago is...

“You Sir! Are wearing the colors of the greatest hockey team on the planet!” I shouted to the man in a black tee emblazoned with a Blackhawks logo, colorful and recognizable at any length.

He smiled and shouted back, “Yes I am!”

Orientation at East Carolina, you’ve got to love it. Connections are made every day, and the more quirky, the more beautiful, and the more meaningful. The Blackhawks fan stood out, I knew him. See, I grew up in Northern Illinois until a move south brought me to Eastern North Carolina in the early 70’s. I still had this genetic connection with the man and his family.

“There are two teams in Chicago, the Cubs and the other team which will remain nameless. Where Sir, do you stand?”

“There is only one team, and they are the Cubs!” He shouted back over the incoming freshmen din. And then he shook my hand.

“Football?”

Tears filled his eyes as he shouted “Ditka… da Bears!” With that a fist bump ensued.

All the families at the top of the stairs crowding into the textbooks department were getting caught up in the game. Connections were being made right and left. One mom was from Illinois as well, but from the South Side. Another traitorous family originally came from the state with the rivers and the prairies, but crossed the line into Wisconsin, which is worse than a southern boy who sympathizes with the north. Hock-toowie.

People milled about during these few opening moments, and then I hit him with my salvo…

“Jack Brickhouse?”

“I love you man!” He bear hugged me, punched my back, and asked my name.

“Tony”

“Me too”

There wasn’t a dry eye.

Connections. It’s all about connections. The man knows his child will be well looked after, and I’ve connected with a family who will continue to come into our store. We momentarily had fun, and that’s what life is all about, those small connections. I gave an oath to him and his son, Andrew, that I would do everything I could to make his son’s experience at East Carolina a good one, and he promised me that someday, someday, perhaps when Satan is tossing snowballs, that the Cub’s would indeed win the World Series. Someday, mind you.

As I run, I feel the connections I’ve made with every runner who crosses a finish line. The races are not about me, although I have been known to knock a towhead and grandma out of my way, no, the races are about everyone who has the courage to show up. A few years ago at my first race, I was astonished by the runners who finished much earlier than I, but who stayed on to applaud the back of the packers, and who showed us such camaraderie, such connection.