I recently entered a mini-essay contest for Tribe Magazine. I’ve published with them before and had a good experience. My essay wasn’t chosen — I like to think because it was a bit of a stretch for the topic. Anyhow, I was just reading a blog post about the NICU and its lack of windows, and it reminded me of my essay. I figured I’d share it now. Might as well dig out of the election-centric posts slowly but surely (Though there will be more. Oh will there ever be more).
When I was 20 and Pete and Maura Kennedy were playing at a 21+ venue, they went out of their way to make sure we got to go to the show. Maura wrote to the venue that she would personally guarantee that we would not drink alcohol, signing her name to it in a show of trust that meant the world to me. Ever since then we have joked that they are my adoptive parents, having adopted us for that one night. She told me that if the venue hadn’t agreed to let us in that she and Pete were going to go play on the sidewalk.
I knew this would be an eventful weekend, but in a well-planned, 100% awesome sort of way. And then the universe must have read my #TBT post and decided what I really needed was more ill-advised adventure.