A Midwest Omen

I believe in omens. Not the creepy pagan kind, but the happy signs of good luck that unexpectedly peek at us here and there.  I'd define 'omens' as delightful moments that foreshadow prosperity.  I can never tell with these manifestations if it's heaven, 'fate,' or nature, but they seem like a gift all the same.  Omens can be something silly like seeing a rabbit on my way to run a marathon, a flower in my garden that goes rouge and blooms unseasonably early, or something substantial that provokes reflection.

Each St. Patrick's Day weekend I am reminded of an especially impactful omen. It took place exactly 6 years ago when a stranger on the airplane gave Brady and I a hundred dollar bill to buy a gift for our expectant baby. The value of this memory has little to do with the actual money and everything to do with the circumstances and the lessons learned.

We were living in Utah, on an airplane to visit East Lansing, Michigan. I wasn't sold on the idea of  the Midwest, it's windy, long winters, or moving to a place without a grad school option for me. We had an offer from a flashy Ivy League school in NYC, and Michigan State University, in the middle of no where, seemed a bit anti-climactic.  Still, we were excited about the changes to come with a new Phd program, a new place to live, and our first baby that was due in a month.

Scrunched with us on our plane row was a middle-aged Michigander with a thick brown mustache and a bit of a beer belly. As the plane began its descent he began telling us of his work as a volunteer fireman and his little kids that he missed dearly but rarely saw due to divorce. He told us about life in Michigan, happy things in store, and that he felt it would be a good home for us. He asked about the baby on the way. He told us how important kids were and how lucky we were- to have each other, to have this upcoming baby and the love he would bring into our lives. As we started grabbing our bags he handed a folded up bill to Brady and told us to take care of our little family.  Off the plane, when the man was out of sight, we unfolded the bill- it was $100.

It was humbling. We didn't know the man's name, only the town, Port Austin, he was from.  We meant to drive across the state to track him down, but we never did. One day I would like run into him again and tell him how much we appreciated his help. I would tell him our baby has grown into a kindergartner that is the absolute sunshine in our day. I would tell him with his money we bought a stroller that became our second car- taking me to the local bakery, to the park, to work.  I would tell him that although I haven't re-gifted his $100 yet, I will someday. 

I would love to tell this man and that his gesture came to represent what we loved most about Michigan- the warm people that took us under their wing, their old-fashioned, Midwestern, 'niceness.'  He was the first of many people to be kind to us in Michigan. We had a church congregation that was supportive. People from work and the community who made us feel valued. Babysitters and neighbors that treated us like grandkids.  If I see him again I will tell him his random kindness has not been forgotten, and yes, that he was a sign of our good luck.