Go Blue!

Every year, my family volunteered at the local high school Christmas tree lot, a fundraiser for the school our kids attended. This tree lot was in San Rafael, California. I had my volunteer schedule all set for the holiday season, but one day I needed to drop something off at the lot. I figured I’d run into the tent, take care of it, and be on my way. But then I saw her. A tiny five-year-old girl was standing there wearing a pair of pants that were clearly on backwards. And on the seat of those pants, prominently displayed for all to see, was a big blue Michigan “M.” As a loyal University of Michigan grad (and someone who missed snowy Michigan at Christmastime), I couldn’t resist. “What’s the Michigan connection?” I asked the sweet little girl. The girl shyly ran over to her mom, who quickly came over with a “Go Blue” but explained that she hadn’t gone to University of Michigan, but she was originally from the state. “Me too! Where?” I asked. “Grand Rapids,” she said. “Me too!” She continued, clarifying, “Actually, East Grand Rapids—a suburb of Grand Rapids.” “Me too!” By now, “Me too!” was becoming a bit of a refrain. I asked where she had gone to high school. She explained that she had actually gone away to boarding school, but her parents still lived on Fisk Lake. “You’re kidding. Me too!” Now we were both laughing at the absurdity of it. “Which house?” I asked. And that’s when the coincidence became almost unbelievable. Her parents were living in the exact same house where I had grown up. It was not any ordinary house. It was a beautiful, distinctive and historic home right on the lake, with gorgeous landscaping—one of those places you could never forget. I had grown up there, and the idea that I had somehow wandered into a Christmas tree lot in San Rafael, California, and happened to meet the little girl whose grandparents now lived in my childhood home in Michigan was almost too strange to comprehend. And the strangest part? I wasn’t even supposed to be there that day. If I had come at any other time—or if that little girl hadn't happened to be wearing her backwards Michigan pants —I never would have noticed the “M,” never would have asked about Michigan, and none of this would have happened and I would not know of the current owners. We stood there talking for quite a while, both of us amazed by the increasingly improbable series of connections. What were the odds that, thousands of miles from Michigan, I would encounter a five-year-old wearing a Michigan “M,” whose mother was from my hometown, who lived on my childhood lake, in my childhood house? A week later, I received a package in the mail from the current owners of my childhood home—her parents. Inside were photographs of the house, its history, and stories about the renovations they had made over the years. It was such a thoughtful gesture, and seeing the house again through their eyes made the whole encounter even more special. So was it a coincidence? Absolutely. But sometimes, coincidences are just too perfectly lined up to feel like coincidences at all. And somehow, it all started because a little girl in San Rafael, California—nowhere near Michigan—put her Michigan “M” pants on backwards.