Westward Bound.

This morning, I made my fifth trip to a Chicago airport in three weeks. The journeys to Midway and O’Hare remind me of the days before the kids got their drivers’ licenses, those fleeting pre-sixteen years when they needed rides to games, practices, rehearsals, friends’ homes, anywhere. Scrambling into the passenger seat, they settle in and talk. Free from eye contact, distractions, and agendas, the children embrace the freedom to share, dream, and problem solve. I bask in marveling about their adventurous, independent lives – paper assignments, quirky roommates, worries, friends, trips, projects, presentations, memories. No texts, no tweets, no phones, they courteously wait until they are out of the van to check their cells.  Too bad there are planes to take Katie, Bobby, Brigid, and Brendan back to the west coast. I’d like to drive them.

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