What can I say, the 16th of July is a holiday in our family: 28 years and 9 months ago my parents had sex for the third and final time. (The first two were on their wedding night. The second prompted my sister's birth in 1980. And the third was in late 1983.
What a great way to turn 28: spending nine straight hours plowing through practice bar exams, both essay and multiple choice portions. When I said that this was a birthday I'd never forget, I really meant that I'll never forget the fellow RV campers just staring at me with looks of concern and shades of discontent that a 20-something student is simply grazing over a picnic table with headphones, a number two pencil and a booklet.
I wish I could tell you that the first part of my birthday provided great thrills; it didn't. With that said, every two hours, I'd turn on my cell phone to hear voicemails from family and friends and found it comforting to see the many friends sending e-mails, text messages or Facebook messages. It was also amazing to read "keep writing" and "best of luck next week." Its the small moments of communication that can continue our drive through life. You see, I've looked at these 30 plus days through the lens of the law, and through the voices of people. While, I am still uncertain on my cognate, I am hoping it involves aiding others. I'm not good at many things in life, but I enjoy every conversation I ever have, even the hard ones. The ability to communicate may be my greatest asset, something that I've treasured as I've plugged through our state's most northern posts.
I finally called it quits at 6:30, treating myself for a run through this port town, eventually stumbling into Wisconsin. On this hour long jaunt, I was met with the Boom County Saloon, a bar I'd later find out was still open, despite showing no shades of economic activity. Apparently, the serve libations during the odd hours of 4:45 - 7:00. (Happy Hour is primetime?) With sweat dripping down my face, I stopped, took a picture and simply smiled, recalling my maternal grandfather, who was dubbed the boommeister by many. When my grandfather was happy to be with family and friends and was a few gin and waters in, he'd often say boom, similar to how Seinfeld made yada-yada-yada famous. For example, I woke up today, opened up a bar review book, boom-boom-boom, I saw the Boom County Saloon. Here, I was about an 8 and half-hour drive from my childhood home, which was across the street from Grandpa's, now home of my cousin and her two children, and I could hear him. Ironically, this week marks five years since his passing.
My night concluded at a local sports bar, where I met Katie. I was there to treat myself to a dinner, a beer and hopefully watch the Tigers; she was there to do the same. As I talked to the 24-year-old college student from Grand Rapids, we exchanged stories about Houghton, home of her college; home of my good friend Andy. "How do you know so much about the town?" she asked. "I've been traveling for nearly five weeks through the state; I probably know more than some locals," I responded. Before I knew it, I was back in Wisconsin, where Katie bought me a birthday beer at the local brewery. Despite having met her just an hour before, our stories interchanged as we discussed how we both ended up here in Menominee. She was here on a summer internship, preparing for her future. In many ways, I'd like to think I am doing the same.
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