Two winters ago, my kids and I rode the train to Union Station in Chicago. They planned it between themselves to hire a Uber and , I just follow their directions, and literally follow after their foot steps out of train station to the street. Before I could orient myself to find out where I was, they had already turned and I had to play catch up. The moment I caught up and I was already hurried to a car waiting athe curb side.
It was that moment when I had to pause in front of Union Station to look for a street sign while my kids had already determined which direction to turn without a hint of hesitation, I felt a sense of relief, a relief that my kids can handle and plan simple things, they can rely on themselves. It was not too long ago, I was the one with a map and command to follow me.
Last winter, my family was in Chicago area again, and daughter asked if anyone was interested in going to Chicago Art Institute.I decided to join her. We took the train again. It was a raining day though not terribly cold. We decided to walk instead of riding a bus or Ulber. I had to comment to her for not complaining about it.
The last time we were in this museum was when she was in second grade. I do not have any recollections except the long hallway. She remembered because she wrote a report about it.
Once inside the museum, I learned a few things from her about art appreciation, learned the differences among different periods and artists.
I had been waiting for these moments, moments when青胜于蓝。