Philadelphia, The city of brotherly love, that I love!
Philadelphia. The city of brotherly love; the city that I love. November 2013, we finally made it to Philadelphia for a long weekend. I don’t know why we put off Philadelphia for so long since I love touring historical sites and this city is a living history lesson. After some research, we bought City Passes giving us prepaid access to just about every historical site we could cram into our weekend. Though we had a lot to see in Philadelphia, I read that Steamtown U.S.A. was only two hours north of Philly, in Scranton. Steamtown is a National Historic Site and was worth the four-hour round trip because Ethan is the biggest train enthusiast I have ever known. At 5 years old he was able to answer all of the tour guide’s questions about each part of the steam engine.
We left Scranton, heading towards our hotel in downtown Philadelphia. I was in a bit of a hurry, driving our Toyota Yaris down the highway at what seemed its top speed of 50 mph, because I had also made dinner reservations for City Tavern that evening. Though we had only been in Pennsylvania for about 7 hours, we had already covered about 250 miles and I still had more things to do once we hit downtown Philly. On the plane from Cleveland, Jamie mentioned that he “felt a head cold coming on.” I tried to ignore his words. We had a similar situation about 10 years earlier during a trip to Chicago when he came down with the flu. The thought of him not being able to go to all the places I had planned terrified me into silence. By the time we were leaving Scranton it was clear he was not feeling well as he slept in the car, something he never does. While Jamie and Ethan slept, I passed the time chatting on the phone with my friend, as I navigated my way through traffic.
We parked the car in the hotel garage, unloaded our suitcases and got ready for the evening. In the midst of all of this, I could tell Jamie was trying not to be sick as neither of us wanted a repeat of Chicago. Okay, that’s not exactly accurate. Jamie was pretending to be well so I would not act like a jerk because he was sick during our long weekend. He was very carefully acting upbeat but it was obvious he was not well. In my effort to overcome his illness by ignoring it and keeping up with the schedule, we took a taxi over to City Tavern for dinner. City Tavern is my favorite type of restaurant. Interesting local food, served in a casual atmosphere, with a dash of history. It was my favorite time of year, in an old city at an historic restaurant. Pulling up to the sidewalk in front, I loved it. Walking in through the big old doors and seeing the heart of pine floors and the costumed servers and period décor, I loved it. We were seated near the fireplace and ordered dinner. They had lamb chops…I loved it. Jamie took one bite of his pot pie and was done. Not done eating; he was done with the day. He was so done that he put his head down on the table. I had pushed too far again. Ethan and I calmly ate our meals while we made small talk with a man who was dining alone at the table next to us. This man was a local who provided some excellent advice about the city which we benefited from that weekend, so it was not a complete bust.
We got back to the hotel room and Jamie needed cold medicine. He needed sleep. He needed quiet. There was no choice but for me to walk from our hotel to the CVS I saw at the corner. Our hotel was located downtown near Reading Terminal Market. It might have been past 9 p.m. because, as I walked up to the CVS, a woman with an uncanny resemblance to Precious Jones was pulling the large gates closed over the glass doors leading into CVS. I asked if there were any other options to buy cold medicine that night. She looked me over carefully, up and down, and asked if I planned to walk. “Yes, if it’s not too far,” I answered with naïve confidence. She grinned at me as she said, “Look, I wouldn’t even walk alone out here at night; can you wait until morning?” My perception of danger is a bit skewed because I grew up in the suburbs where we didn't lock doors and routinely roamed the streets well past 9 p.m., but something about this nice woman’s candor, told me to heed her advice, so I went back to the hotel empty handed.
The first night of any getaway always gives me a feeling of tremendous excitement. It is a physical transformation into relaxation mode just knowing I made it to the destination and the next week or next couple days are all mine. Tonight was the first night, and our dinner at City Tavern should have been drinks and conversation about all the things we were going to do. I was trying my best to be kind about the situation, but there was no way I could sit in the hotel room. Plus, Jamie does not want humans near him when he is sick. So, while I felt this was, unfortunately, going to be a repeat of Chicago, I was not going to let it ruin me yet. Also, there was something we had this time which we did not have in Chicago: Ethan.
Jamie passed out in bed, and I asked Ethan if he wanted to hit the pool. He was thrilled. We hit the swimming pool, changed clothes again, then hit the restaurant/lounge where we had some dessert and drinks. His drink of choice on vacation is always Coke or Pepsi since I don’t let him have it often at home. He was just as excited as me. We sat near a window overlooking the nighttime skyline of the city. Ethan is the type of kid who can hang. He has never had a meltdown or thrown a tantrum in public, ever. I’m not saying he always behaves well, I am just saying that he has never had one of those uncontrolled, crying, over-tired, freak-outs—ever. When Ethan was 4, we made it through three days of Disney, without a stroller and at park closing, this kid was still ready to go another time on a ride or grab a snack. On this day, in Philly, it was almost midnight and in this day alone, Ethan had been on a plane, drove four hours in a car, visited National Historic Sites, went on a guided tour of trains and train shops, went swimming, and we were now sitting in a restaurant, at midnight, talking about Steamtown. He is fun. He is awesome.
When we got back to the hotel room, Jamie was still passed out. I felt his forehead, and he was burning up. We did not disturb him. I drifted off to sleep that night worried about Jamie, but also the next few days. By the next morning, any trace of fever had passed, and Jamie was left with what seemed to be a manageable head cold. We went to CVS first thing, loaded up on cold medicine and after a relaxing breakfast, we began exploring. It turned out to be a great long weekend. We saw just about every site on our City Pass card, and then some, including Mutter Museum. We laughed one evening after dinner, when Ethan walked over to the edge of a sidewalk, raised his arm and hailed a taxi—which actually stopped in response to him. I shed tears at just about every historic site and museum, because that’s what I do. I am foolishly in love with America, and her history—the good and the bad. To me, loving America means accepting the good and the bad. No different than we accept the good or bad of our closest relations. Just like the people we love, our country is not perfect, and when we travel to historic sites, I am reminded of how complex a country it is; where it began; where it is headed. There is so much diversity among all Americans, and yet we still manage to shift power from one party to the next, so far without wars, but by free elections as first established in our founding documents. I still believe that a small group of concerned citizens can change a nation, as it happens all the time in America.
To me, it is hard not getting emotional over Philadelphia. This is the place where America’s first, and bravest-ever leaders mutually pledged to each other their Lives, their Fortunes, and their sacred Honor when they banded together, voluntarily committed treason, called out their King and motherland, and declared America’s independence. These guys were not just trying to boost their poll numbers. They meant what they said. Never, since that time has there been a greater collection of minds, or bad-ass bravery in America's leaders; and it all happened in Philadelphia.
