It was Chicago, 1997. It was beautiful, but then Chicago always is. The combination of snow, the Windy City, and December are pure perfection in my book. I was going to meet my good friend Andy. I had met Andy when I was a sophomore in high school at a leadership camp somewhere in Indiana. Though we only knew each other for four days, and lived two hours apart, we had become fast friends.

Andy and Me. Fast friends. What a charmer.

On the way to see Andy, I had met my old tennis pal Tom in South Bend.

Tom and me. Tennis pals.

He was a freshman at Notre Dame (I forgave him for that). See, Andy had a modeling thing in the city. I think he had won a contest and this was the Big Show. So Tom and I took the train to Chi Town to support one of the coolest guys I know.

While Andy did his modeling thing, Tom and I toured around town, though we were forced to pause for Notre Dame’s kick off. We stopped in the middle of the Magnificent Mile so Tom could flail his arm about while making nonsensical groans (insert eye roll and add another tally mark to the “reasons why I loathe Notre Dame”).  When he was done, we continued about our day until it was time to meet Andy at his hotel.

Andy demonstrating his modeling thing to us.

We were primed to hit the city in a big way. All of 17, 18 and 19 years of age, we did what any red-blooded American teenagers from the sticks would do in the third largest city in the states – we headed to a theme restaurant like Planet Hollywood or the Rainforest Café (c’mon, it was the 90’s). A girl from Andy’s school, who had also won the contest, joined us, too.

Now I don’t know exactly how it came about, but I remember being on a street corner when it happened. We might have been heading back to the hotel or to the train station. Tom and I still needed to get home after all and returns to South Bend were few and far between. Regardless, as we were laughing and enjoying the crisp evening air, there it was.

A gorgeous long white limousine pulled up to the curb. The driver beckoned us to get in.

Yeah, right.

No, no, he said. It was free.

Yeah, right.

No really. It was free.

Hmmm…

We looked at each other. Heck yeah! I know I’d never been in a limo before. Caution be damned, we jumped right in.

In the limo.

So let me preface this with the fact that I have no idea where he took us, nor how long we were on that ride as time ceased to be. I presume he drove us to Andy’s hotel, but I can’t quite recall. What I do remember is traveling around Chicago with an open roof. Chicago. An open roof. December. Snow. We were hanging out the rooftop of a limousine in winter in downtown Chicago. Just take a moment to let that sink in … The coolest architecture in the country. Skyscrapers on all sides. Cool air on our faces. Christmas lights shimmering in the windows. Street lights dancing in a row. Wind in our hair. Lots of wind, actually. Lots of wind. It was exhilarating, inspiring and breathtaking all at once.

View from the open roof in a MOVING LIMO.

We played with the glasses.

The mini bar fully loaded with a state-of-the-art tv.

We caressed the leather seats. We laughed until we cried.

Laughing till we cried.

It was the ride of our lives. And our driver, whose name I hate to admit has long since been forgotten, was the man of the hour.

Man of the hour.

Whether he was on a break and thought he could pick up a little extra cash, or whether he simply intended to make a great night for some small town teens from the Hoosier state, we will never know.

When he dropped us off and we asked how much, he repeated that it was free. We gathered all the cash we had – a whopping $11 – and handed it to him, thanking him profusely. We felt so bad. Surely one of the most amazing moments in our history was worth more than $11, but he said it was his pleasure. Looking at the smile on his face, I kind of believe it was.

The Man of the Hour took our picture outside the limousine.

Back to reality, we realized Tom and I were running late for the train. We said our good-byes then ran at least half of the way to the station (we had no cash for a cab). The Chicago cold winter wind now pierced our lungs and stung our faces.

At last, we made it to the station and … we’d missed the last train to South Bend. The best we could do? Michigan City. Which meant my dad had to come pick us up an hour and a half from home in the middle of an ice storm. LOVE him for doing that, and not totally hating us for creating such a bind (he was still less than thrilled, however). In this case, it was absolutely worth missing the train (though my father may disagree).

Sometimes the smallest seed of kindness can last a lifetime. You may never see its fruit or its full impact, but it does bear fruit and it does have an impact. And one day, you, too, may miss your train in order to seize the day. Accept it for what it is. Just ride the wave and you won’t regret it.