Obama Rama and a Lost Passport

I went downtown to vote today.

To vote for Barack Obama.

It was a grace period voting sessions for all new Illinois residences.

The energy inside the voting room was inspiring.

People from all walks of life had come to participate in our elections.

Something about the room made me feel a real equalization of humanity,
at least in that moment.

Something in that room made me believe in America again,
at least in that moment.


On my train ride home, an older man, African American, sat down next to me.

"St. Ignatian?"
he read from my jacket.

Yes, I went to a Jesuit school.

"Where are you from," he asked.

I told him, and we started talking.

He handed me a booklet about the mistreatment of Mexican workers in America.
We talked about Europe, how I felt more alive there.
He said his best friend, a man from Greece, had a daughter my age who felt the same way.

We talked about how we worried about the future of our country, worried about our leaders, hoping they could find the strength to bring us to a better place.

He was so happy to find out I was an art teacher, telling me art truly taught people acceptance. That our children needed to learn about love and expression.

I felt alive to be near this man.

When my stop came up, he tipped his hat to me.

I hoped I'd see him again.





Later that day....



Although I was planning on heading to the North side of the city to watch my students play soccer this Saturday, I realized I probably would not make it on time.


Instead, I asked a few of my roommates to accompany me to an art walk happening a little ways down the road.

I did not feel like carrying a bag, so instead, I took out the hot pink muff that the costume designer at the O'Neill gave to me as a present this summer.

Upon reaching a large warehouse, we soon discovered that the art walk was not happening, and instead, there was a large warehouse sale of primitive art, as well as complimentary refreshments and a man dj'ing the event with some odd rhythmic beats. He sat near a collection of Asian woodwork, tapping his feet enthusiastically.

As we began to bore of the smell of maple and dust, we began a trek to a local coffee shop.


My roommate Angi and I found ourselves behind the others, chatting and taking in the odd Halloween decorations of our neighborhood. I was kind of dressed, oddly, and we wondered if people may think her and I were part of a "Professionals and Prostitutes" program.

About half a block of our destination I stopped and screamed.

"MY PASSPORT!!!!!"

"Laura, why do you have your passport in a muff with no pockets?"

"I DON'T HAVE IT IT's GONE! ANd so are my credit cards, and identification card."


Yes. that's right. I dropped my entire idenity, and anything someone might need to become me, on a sidewalk in the south side of Chicago.


Angi and I turned around and began to walk back, looking for my lost item. I wasn't really that worried, as this sort of thing happened to me bi-weekly, but none the less, I hoped that we'd find my items.

Four blocks down, I noticed a small spanish man in his 40's holding my passport.


"Are you Laura?" he asked in broken English.

"Yes! Thank you Thank you!" I said.

He didn't seemed that convinced, and slowly handed me the passport. I noticed that the credit cards and id card were not inside of it and gave him a hard look.

"Ok. Here."
He slowly opened up his pocket and gave me the rest of my items.

I thanked him again and turned to walk away.

"If you ever need anything, this is my house, you come by!" He said.

"Uh huh."

"Do you want to smoke weed???"

"No thanks."

I kept walking, amazed that my passport had been returned, wondering if he expected some sort of reward, or worse, if he would have walked right passed me, had I not already noticed the passport in his hand.


Just as we began our journey back down the street, a few men jumped out of the backseat of a car.


"Here, this is the way to heaven." one of them said, handing me a yellow piece of paper, with some sort of map on it, and a few bible scriptures. I could not help but giggle. I turned to my left and noticed a sign on the door of an apartment building that said "HardScrabble," and the name Sebastian written below it.

I stopped at the door and yelled in "Sebestian!"

A man immedietly appeared at the door. "Yes?"

I just sat there hysterically laughing, wondering why such odd happenings seemed to follow me around.

I promised to sew a pocket in my muff that evening, maybe even with a zipper.