How Old Are You Now?

Well -- it's official -- after 90 posts (that's including today's) and one year, The Chicago to DC POV is still going strong.

We've seen the Cubs botch another post-season, a Presidential Election that was down to the wire, the inauguration of our nation's first black president, Randy Johnson's 300th career win, the anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing, the third season of VH1's Rock of Love with Bret Michaels, the re-building of the Yankee Stadium, the Jonas Brothers nomination for Best New Artist at the 2009 Grammy Awards, Wrigley Field's first Ice Hockey game and commemorated 9/11.

We've learned that South Park is still funny after 12 seasons.

We've reminisced about the days when MTV still played music videos.

And we've also cried a pretty decent amount about the harsh realities of familial tragedy. On a personal note, this blog has taken a positive turn since my father's passing on January 17. My writing is full of far more passion than I could ever hope for -- and for this, I'm thankful.

To all of my loyal readers: thank you for your unconditional support with this project. It means a lot to me and I assure you that this is just the beginning of things to come.

To all of my soon-to-be-loyal-readers: you've got some good things to look forward to, so stick with it.

Today's post and every post from here on out is therefore dedicated to the following family members who passed away in 2009:

Dad (Steven Levitin)

Coco

Grandma Irene

and Bubbe (Marilyn S. Levitin)

...without them, none of this would have been possible.

Best,

R.H. Levitin
The Chicago to DC POV

September's BONUS One-Liner of the Month

The following is an excerpt from "September 13, 2009 -- Never Forget -- Rest in Peace, Dad":

"Always remember, never forget, remain resilient -- strength is everything when pain strikes the heart."

September 13, 2009 -- Never Forget -- Rest in Peace, Dad

If you look up at the sky at any moment, it's likely that a steel bird is flying in the heavens miles above your head. September 11, 2001 was the first time in as long as I've been alive that there wasn't.

It's been eight years since the terrorist attacks on America's soil. We all know this -- and still, it's hard to fathom.

2,752 souls perished that day out of hatred and spite. That's not fair.

When thinking of those days events, I find it hard to recall how it felt in the moment. However, what I do feel is the sense of loss. I understand it now. And although it's not of the same magnitude, a day like this helps to put my past eight months in perspective.

Between the dates of January 17 and August 22 my family lost four integral members.

Now -- I know what you're thinking -- that's nowhere near the same as waking up one morning on a September day in New York City to the death and destruction of your loved ones due to a terrorist attack. However, the pain induced from losing a loved one remains a difficult concept to muster.

I do not have the time to mourn those lost on September 11th, but I do understand how their families must feel. It's my dad's birthday on Sunday and it's the first one he won't be attending.

There will be no obligatory phone call complete with the birthday song. There will be no gift exchange or golf-themed birthday cards. His laugh won't be ringing in my ears after getting off the phone with him because of how loud it was. And in a nut shell -- that hurts.

As a nation, we must never forget the swift actions taken against our country in an effort to shake our spirits. As a young woman, I am obligated to take the past eight months and rise above them -- just as the American people continue to rise above terrorism.

Eight years ago I sat around the kitchen table watching the news with my sister, mother, dog (RIP Coco), and dad as the news played the attacks on a loop. We were lucky we had each other. We were glad we had a reason to celebrate life -- in particular, my father's 46th birthday.

Eight months ago I sat at that same table while watching the inauguration of our nation's first black president -- without my dog and without my dad. Nothing feels right anymore and nothing is the same, but if America can make it through the worst terrorist attack on our own soil then anything's possible.

Always remember, never forget, remain resilient -- strength is everything when pain strikes the heart.

Fly Me to the Moon

Tomorrow is the 6 month mark of my dad's passing. The following piece is dedicated to him.

I might be the only person who tears up whenever they see the lunar lander at the Smithsonian's Air & Space Museum -- but I'm okay with that.

Rewind a decade and imagine a 12-year-old who loves to learn. This 12-year-old's dad decided to take her to the one place in America that has (what to a child feels like) a never ending lot of free museums and national monuments.

And yes -- that 12-year-old was me.

You see, my father's heart was starting to fail then but I had no idea. So he decided to give both of his daughters a week of his time by taking them on a "daddy-daughter" trip. My sister got New York City and I got the Nation's Capitol.


It was easy to pick the first attraction to see upon our arrival in D.C. We headed straight for the Air & Space Museum because of my love for all things science-fiction and my strong desire to be the first girl to land and live on the planet Mars. Plus, I had turned in a book report on a Neil Armstrong biography just days before leaving for the trip, so Air & Space felt 100 percent appropriate.

I remember it like it was yesterday. The Spirit of Saint Louis hanging over head, the swarms of fellow tourists gazing at the space race artifacts surrounding them at every turn. It was learning heaven.

Then, low and behold, the greatest sight of all -- an Apollo lunar lander. It was everything I thought it would be an more. NASA never got to send this particular lander to space but I'm glad they didn't because my dad and I got a chance to see it together.

Forty years ago today 3 American men began the quarter-million-mile journey beyond Earth's atmosphere into the black and star-filled universe for all of mankind. We were going to the moon and nothing was going to stop us.

Neil Armstrong, Mike Collins, and Buzz Aldrin did what most every human being could never even conceive doing in any lifetime. They woke up one morning and brushed their teeth, took a shower, and put on their pants one leg at a time just like most. But then they did a little something different. They suited up and took a man-made machine for a wild ride to this little place we like to call the moon and then when they were done they came home. Sounds like a fun job to me.

But I digress ...

I visited the Air & Space Museum today. This time I was by myself. Every time I turned around I saw another piece of American history and all I wanted to do was call my dad to tell him where I was and what I was doing.

Then I saw it -- the lunar lander -- I nearly lost myself.

My heart sank, my eyes welled up with tears, and all I could do was smile and stare at the beautiful space craft that I had seen so many years ago.

I'm taller now so the angle I looked at it from was a bit different but the feeling of seeing it wasn't. Man visited the moon six times before they stopped, but we did it. We did what President Kennedy said we'd do in 1961 when so many people thought we wouldn't. We dreamed big and made it happen. What could be better?

I can't help but think that my this why my dad and I both loved visiting the Air & Space Museum twice in one week. He knew knew the extent of what man was capable of and it was in that very museum -- standing in front of the lunar lander -- that I learned that life's possibilities are endless.

We Can Take The Long Way Home

One would think I have no obligations on this Father's Day seeing as mine passed away five months ago. Too bad that isn't true.

I have the soul responsibility of getting through today in once piece. As luck would have it, Father's Day 2009 not only lacks the presence of my own father but it's my dog Coco's 13th birthday (may she too rest in peace) and my Grandma Irene's 90th.

Today is a day that we should all be celebrating together: brunch at the country club for the humans and vanilla Häagen-Dazs® for Coco -- she deserves a treat, it is her birthday after all!

Then the obligatory exchange of gifts between my grandpa, uncle, and dad (often times these gifts include various sweaters from Brooks Brothers, Ralph Lauren, and J.Crew). The kids watch and wait while catching some cuddle time with the dog. The women sip on coffee and thank everyone for such a "pleasant" afternoon (whether or not it was one). And then -- my favorite part -- the drive home.

The drive home occurs as a result of the hour and a half trek we would take to the Father's Day celebration. You see, us Chicago folk take the day trip to Michigan City, In. It's a small town near the border of Michigan and Indiana (in case you couldn't figure that one out). Just imagine any stereotypical, mid-western small town and you'll come up with a semi-accurate picture in your mind.

The ride back always felt longer than the one on the way to Michigan City. This is because there was always more to talk about after the Father's Day festivities were over than beforehand. Yes ... there were more cars filtering through the Indiana Toll Roads at the end of Father's Day. All the commuters from North West Indiana and some parts of Chicago do make their way back and forth in less time than it would take a family of four plus two dogs in a black Volvo station wagon to get from Michigan City to Wrigleyville, but that didn't matter. Sure ... my sister and I never unpacked the car. Dad did that. And in our defense, the dogs didn't help unpack either.

But I digress...

I could never pinpoint why the car ride home was my favorite part of Father's Day. I never thought about it before. But after some thought, I've come to a conclusion. This might come to some shock or chagrin of a few of my family members since I've made a consistent attempt at never admitting my feelings toward those with a blood relation to me for whatever reason. I enjoyed the car ride home because I was stuck inside a four-walled space with people who didn't care how big of a idiot I may sound like on occasion or would yell at me for how many times I drop the "F-bomb" because it's unwomanly.

I wont lie. I miss being made fun of for constantly asking the word "what". Dad always did do the best impression of me.

The family will not be together this Father's Day. Everyone is spread far and wide: Chicago, D.C., Arizona, Michigan City, Boston, "heaven" ... you know ... everywhere you can think of except for being together. That's no one's fault, that's how the world works. Some years are better than others, some years are worse, but today I will sip some scotch for my dad and eat some ice cream for my dog.

At least we all still have our memories, L'Chaim.


Norah Jones - The Long Way Home (Video, Live from Austin)

Change Has Come: A Tribute To Coco And Steven Levitin

Inauguration Day 2009 was a day of change for America -- at least that's what President Barack Obama told us.

When I saw the front page of the Chicago Tribune at my home in Chicago Thursday morning, I couldn't believe my eyes. The truth lay before me -- a Cubs and White Sox fan were hard at work in the Oval Office.

But my grandparents saw something different.

They saw the first black man executing business in that black leather chair and a Jew providing the President with guidance along the way.

The only person who didn't get to see it was my father.

My dad passed away due to a weak heart on Jan. 17, days before President Obama took office and my mother's birthday. But don't let his death overshadow the truth. His heart wasn't weak by any means, its time beating came to an end.

The man was lucky enough to have two hearts in his life -- one of his own and one he received from a then 15-year-old boy named Mark, giving my dad nine extra years on this earth to continue to live every minute as if it were the most important one he lived.

It's times like these that you wish an entire campaign run on "change" never did. My dad knew I hated change. More than anything. I did and I do. Change scares me. And -- as much as it's needed -- I just never liked it much. It seemed trivial and unproductive.

Before each start of the semester during college, he'd write and tell me "I know you hate change BUT....," that kind of thing.

Guess I can't hate it anymore. He wouldn't like it if I did.

To make this nightmare more heart wrenching, my dog -- the beloved Coco -- passed away 12 hours before my dad.

Now, I don't really believe much in an afterlife but I must admit that I do believe Coco had to go that morning so when my dad got to where he was going, she would be there.

Because, as much as she was my baby (I picked her out of the liter, named her, all that jazz), a dog really is a man's best friend.

I can see it now. He shows up wherever people go when they die and he's all bummed, hanging his head low because now ... it's real ... he's not living anymore and he has to deal with that ... and then -- all of a sudden -- that rough, deep, husky bark just starts. He looks up. There she is. Golden, perfectly groomed coat, maybe even with a little halo (who knows, right?) galloping full speed toward the man she hadn't seen for the past two to three months. It must've made him so happy. Lord knows, she was.

And that's that. Change has come. Not only to America, but to me. And this time -- I'm just going to have to accept that.

On 9/11

This piece was written as a free (opinion based) response based on the cue, "On 9/11, ..." This is the take I took on it.

***

I’ve always been afraid of flying. The idea that a plane could crash tears me up inside like a piece of paper shredded to confetti. I can’t explain it any better than that. So, you can imagine my insecurity when two of our American airliners hit the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001.

It’s easy to say where you were at the time of the attacks – that is, if you’re old enough to remember. At this point, I’m an adult. I can even vote in the next Presidential election. But then, I was a freshman in high school. Learning Greek dances for my humanities course. No one believed our classmate when he told us the news, but minutes later – we were watching it all unfold on television.

Since 9/11, I’ve been less afraid to fly. But it wasn’t always that way. At first, I was scared beyond wits end. I believe Miriam Tucker captured my thoughts on that quite well in an article she wrote for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette in December 2001. She asked, “So, why are so many people – myself included – more afraid to fly now?” And answered with, “Because of the news, that’s why.”

Her reasoning behind this is that from September 11^th to December, the news ran some sort of scary story about airplanes or airports. There was no escaping it. Now, we don’t see much of the whole “horror story airport scenarios” crowded our news airwaves. I’m thankful for that.

I like to think that if we ever found ourselves in a similar situation to 9/11 that we’d find a way to get out of it. NPR released information in July 2004 regarding the increased aviation security methods imposed by our government. After more than $9 billion was spent on enhanced security measures, it’s up to us for the rest.

We must remain resilient.

Much like Harrison Ford in “Air Force One”, the people on United flight 93 fought the terrorists to the death – even though that meant everyone on the plane died. Every time I hear Ford say “Get off my plane,” I get what he’s saying. And, had I been in the situation, I would’ve done the same.

So, here’s my message to the terrorists 7 years later:

“Get off my plane. This is our ride. There will never be a day you can hijack our freedoms ever again.”

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