Around 11:30 my cell phone rang,
I pulled it out of my backpack, and checked the caller ID (Dad's Cell).

Dear 'ole Dad doesn't just call my cell on a Monday morning
If he had somehting to tell me, he would email; he frequently emails me during the day.
But a phone call would mean some sort of urgency.
I braced myself for whatever I was about to hear and answered . . .

Julie: Hello

Dear 'ole Dad Hello.

(pause)

Julie: What's wrong?

Dear 'ole Dad: It's 11:30 (pause) on a Monday (pause) and Phil and I are in Chicago (pause) we're staying with Papa VW

Julie: (relaxing out of anxious-ness, but getting impatient) When I saw your number come up on my caller ID, I was expecting an emergency. But you are way to calm for this to be an emergency.

Dear 'ole Dad: No, it's not an emergency. I'm in Chicago.

Julie: (light bulb clicks on over head) Are you at the Chicago Cultural Center?!

Dear 'ole Dad: Yes, Preston Bradley Hall and I thought of you and decided call.

Julie: Do I hear a piano in the background?

Dear 'ole Dad: The Juilard Quartet is playing at noon

Julie: Are you crying?

Dear ole Dad: Yes

Julie: Me too. Are you staying for the concert?

Dear 'ole Dad: Yes

Julie: (tears flowing uncontrollably) I'll see if I can stream it online

Dear 'ole Dad: (voice cracking) I just wanted to call you and let you know.

Julie: Thank you. I love you!

Dear 'ole Dad: I love you too.



As you might have guessed, The Chicago Cultural Center has a special place in my (and in Dear 'ole Dad's) heart. I'm not eloquent enough to write those memories (and even if I were, I'm not sure I want to share them).

But I do want to remember today.
And the phone call
And remembering what it felt like to remember

Thank you Dad.
I love you.