My plan was simple.
Hang a blackboard in the kitchen at the
new place. Just like the one in the kitchen the Shepkids had looked at for most
of their lives.
At the time of the separation, I wanted
some things to remain familiar between the split homes. It was going to be hard
enough on an eleven-year-old, an eight-year-old, and a four-year-old.
What I didn't plan on was that blackboard,
originally meant for schedules and logistics in a divorced family, turning into
the Morning Chalkboard.
Over time it became a daily ritual. A form
of therapy for me. Somehow it became therapeutic for a growing collection of
friends, acquaintances, and strangers who would eventually become known as
Chalkheads. I still make schedules and plans, but instead of organizing life
for three kids, it feels like I'm trying to give a little boost to thousands of
people every morning.
People who need
to know life is tough sometimes. People who need to know that they aren't the
only ones carrying a burden.
Over the years I have used quotes from
Shakespeare to Bowie. I have told stories about dumb things that I have done
through my life. I have snuck hidden messages onto the board and shared lessons
that usually arrived after making a mistake that taught me a valuable lesson.
Back in August of 2017, I never imagined
there would someday be more than three thousand chalkboards sitting in the
archives.
I have written about planets and our
relationship with the stars, the moon, and the sun. The sun gets most of the
attention. Every morning I write its arrival time and its departure time in the
lower left corner.
I think it's
important to know where the sun is and where your shadow will fall. On the
short days our shadows are long. On the long days our shadows are short.
Somehow it all balances out over the course of a year.
I
still get a kick out of drawing a smile on the sun.
I think about my friends when I'm doodling
Sox and Cubs logos on Monday mornings. I feel a certain responsibility to make
sure Chalkheads know when it's National Beer Day or National Donut Day.
… and every
National Fondue Day, I feel obligated to remind everyone about the time I
burned my nipples with melted cheese during what was supposed to be a romantic
fondue date.
Some lessons deserve to be
preserved for future generations.
Chalkheads have watched the Shepkids grow
up. They watched me learn how to navigate bachelorhood. We went through Covid
together. They felt my sorrow when the Old Man died. They followed along as I
went from a trading floor in Chicago to a trading desk in Oakbrook Terrace.
Someday there
might be a book that comes from all of these chalkboards.
If not, that's okay too.
I will be happy knowing that somewhere along
the way I managed to heal a few wounds of my own and maybe helped heal a whole
bunch of Chalkheads during the late 2010s, through the 2020s, and maybe into
the 2030’s..
Like today's quote says, none of this
turned out according to my plan and maybe that was the point all along.
The Chalkboard
has always worked best when I stop trying to steer every detail and leave room
for the mystery of my faith to do the heavy lifting.
Today I am supposed to tell you that it's
National Pralines Day.
I fell in love with pralines on my first
trip to Louisiana. They are good with an Abita and even better with a scoop of
vanilla ice cream.
We are closing in on the end of June
already. I still need to drink my annual bottle of Liebfraumilch and listen to Rhapsody in Blue before the month is over. It
would be nice to do that on the front porch in Oak Park, but a balcony in the
Divorced Dad District will have to suffice.
Go out there
and be kind to each other, Chalkheads.
Find that gusto.
Swim
in the astonishment that life offers when it refuses to follow the plan…
… and if you get the chance today, grab a
piece of chalk and put a smile on the sun.
Deus Vult.
