When I had done the full trolley tour, I hoped off and headed to the Chicago River - for the next couple of hours, I zig-zagged across the city - following the Chicago River through the city - the only river to run back wards, as they were worried about the pollution that may float downstream into the Mississippi…ah yes, Chicago, the city that works.

Then it was off to Union Station to meet my father who was making it way through the wilds of Minnesota and Wisconsin on the famed Empire Builder.  Or as I liked to say, it was one of the four good things to come out of Wisconsin…the others being I-90, I-94, and I-39….my Wisconsin fans hate that one.

There are some sights that stick with you in life.  Images that get locked into your memory like an etching on the window panes of the mind.  Visions that represent in ways, large or small the intricacies of life.

Watching my father get off that train in Chicago was one of those moments.

Through most of our lives, we see our parents in front of us, in the present time and place, and usually very near.  They seem larger then life, for in our minds, they are that very thing.  They are people that, for most of us, and for better or for worse, made us who we are.

For me, the vision in my mind was the man standing out in the field of alfalfa, or kneeling next to one of his cows, changing the milkers, or taking care of his wife of thrity plus years, my mother, as she lay dying of cancer.

Watching him get off that train in Chicago, far down on the platform, in the mass of nameless, faceless people, he seemed smaller then my mind would have had me believe.  For one of the first times, his age, at seventy years old, seemed more pronounced then my mind would have me believe.  In the teeming mass of strangers, on the uneven ground of the train platform and mass of strangers - he seemed, for lack of a better word, out of his element.

But so much of him hadn’t changed.  He walked straight and sure.  He didn’t push the crowd, and the crowd didn’t seem to push him.  As other people seemed to get jostled and pushed, somehow, he kept this air of purposeful serenity about him.  Wearing his leather driving coat and carrying his tan suitcase, he seemed in some ways a piece out of time, and yet more real, and more relavant, then any of the flitting masses around him.

“Hello.” He said with a smile as he walked up to the end of the platform. “Busy place.”

Managing to find a quiet bench in the beehive of Union Station was a small miracle - but find one we did.  We had about four hours to spare before the “Capitol Limited” left from Chicago for its midnight run to Pittsburgh…where we would wait for the “Pennsyvanian” to take us the rest of the way into Harrisburg.

For the next four hours, we read, talked, add a little supper at a hamburger place, talked a little more…and waited….

Finally, we saw the the “Capitol Limited” had pulled into the station, so we made our way to the platform.

“Elderly and disabled passengers first please and anyone traveling with them!”  The conductor bellowed.

Dad started making his way across the platform and to the waiting cars with me following on his heels.

“Wait a minute - I said disabled and elderly - get back in line!” The conductor snarled.

“No problem.” I replied. “Hey Dad - save me a seat!” I hollared to Dad as he moved down the platform.

“Oh.  Oh s***.”  The conductor said. “Well, go ahead then.”

This was already starting out to be a great trip.