Intro:  Ralph and Ruby (nee Fitzpatrick) Kirk were the ‘little kid grandparents’ in my life.  Unlike my Dad’s parents who were more comfortable with us once we could hold conversations, Grandma Ruby and Grandpa Kirk loved and related well with the little kids.  Grandpa watched multiple football games at the same time (stacking three or more  TV’s for the desired effect), blinded us with the lights for his movie camera and sang to all the kids.  A favorite was “You are My Sunshine” – always accompanied by bouncing us on his knees.  Grandma Ruby was the kitchen, and the gardens in the back yard, and early morning games of solitaire – which she routinely won.  Grandpa died in 1978 and Grandma joined him in 1993.

 

April, 2002

Waiting for the trolley at the edge of Chicago’s Navy Pier, I realized I was missing a beautiful spring day and decided to stroll the blocks to my hotel.  I walked diagonally through Lincoln Park dodging bikers, roller bladers, dogs and pedestrians.  I was able to watch traffic and Lake Michigan at the same time.  I bought the Chicago Sun for the headline about the eccentric judge.  I blatantly gawked at skyscrapers, a man in colorful robes, a woman selling clock radios out of a bucket and a kid sitting on a wagon bed as if it was a scooter.

In spite of this cacophony of sight and sound, I began to feel a compelling tune.  It was edging out to me from the tunnel under the expressway.  A full baritone voice both rhythmic and rich was complimented by vocalized clicks and clacks.  Leg slapping rhythms.  A gentle band of one.

Rudolph.  He was a street person and had the street style of broken eye contact and glazed, disconnected responses.  He made just enough eye contact to keep me listening, but was fidgety and restless.  Ragged blue t-shirt, blue jeans, a skinny Starbucks thermos trapped under his arm – the cup of which served as a magnifier for his already booming sounds.  He played the echoes of the tunnel with the finesse of experience.  The sunshine enhanced the rich tones of his skin, his uneven dreads bounced with enthusiastic emphasis.  His eyes smiled a greeting as I dropped money in his collection cup.  “And how are you today?” he incorporated into his song.

“Even better now!” I heard myself honestly reply.

He treated me to a private concert “You are My Sunshine, sung by Rudolph”, he bowed.  “Because someone told me he wanted you to hear this song.”

He finished our time together with his own poem:

A woman

A flower

A woman

A flower

You are magnificent.

Tell me

Are there a bouquet of you?

“Oh,” he says as I turn back to my own day, “Ruby says Hi, too.”

It took a few beats of Starbucks amplified clicks before it dawned on me what he had said.  I whirled back to face him, startled to see that for the first time he was making real eye contact with me – seeking and holding my gaze.

He nodded ever so slightly when he saw the wild recognition in MY eyes, then immediately faded back out.

I felt absolutely a million thoughts, feelings, ideas at the same time.  I stood stock still for a minute, hoping for more – but his back was to me, clearly done with me.  I walked on feeling happy.  Just enjoying the sounds.

It wasn’t until late that evening that the import of what happened hit me.  Of course, I had been so mesmerized by him, his music, and his message that in the moment I had dropped all of my conference materials, sat on my back pack and written notes on our conversation.  In that awkward position, I probably listened to his music for another 20 minutes, soaking in sunshine and feeling the Chicago chill.  But it took silently staring at Chicago’s city lights, listening to my family quietly sleeping in our hotel room and the safe warmth of a cup of coffee to bring all of it to my full attention.

Over the past few years, I have come to an agreement with myself to just enjoy the warmth and fullness of that experience.  In my usual efforts to analyze and scrutinize  I was losing the joy and gentleness that had swept through me during and immediately after the experience. Today as I revisit my writing from over 13 years ago, I have no desire to change the wording or modify the way the story is told. It is a memory that clings to both my heart and my sleeve – exactly as it is presented here today.

08 Dec This entry was published on December 8, 2015 at 3:50 pm. It’s filed under Because, God thoughts, Learning and tagged Chicago, connections, disconnected, empathy, Joy, music, You are my sunshine. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.