It crossed my mind that I've never had an issue dealing with adversity.

"Growing up was a new struggle everyday". As she said this the memories that had been buried for over half a century started coming back. Thankfully she had the forethought to bring a pen along with that little diary she'd become so fond of the last several days. 
"My dear children, let me take you back to the Chicago of my youth. In other words, Chicago as I knew it in the mid 60's".
She said this with a grin. The family had taken several trips to Chicago, but they had stayed in the nice hotels, and did the things that all tourists do in Chicago. Went to the zoo, the Machine Shed Aquarium, and visited the Cubs Stadium. Toured the "Sears Tower", she showed the kids how the subway station worked and even took them to the famed shops in the downtown area. Giving each grandchild a rather large allowance. The two boys spent all of their money fairly quickly at the Nike outlet store, whereas the granddaughter spent hers on that years American Girl Doll. 
As she reminisced she sneered. Recalling that the tower is now the "Willis Tower". Silently she deemed "Sears Tower Forever". It was a small thing, but she had to hold on to any and all positives from her childhood. The tower always reminded her that you could rise above anything. It was also a reminder that no matter how bad things got, some things were built to last, and could stand up to anything.
In many ways the landscape and structure of the windy city was more of a parent than her actual parents. The subway taught her to be on time and know exactly where your going and how to get there. The skyscrapers were a reminder to hang in there no matter the whether. The heavy traffic, both on the street and on the roads, taught her that no matter what life goes  on. There was one other important thing that Chicago taught her. If you got to know people, everyone had a story. None more or less important than the other.
Yes Chicago may be called the "Windy City", and for good reason, but there was a lot of good to be had there as well. The high school that taught her how to run an office, the advisor that always congratulated her when she made the honor roll. She herself, never had money for a cab, but every once in a while a very important looking man, and sometimes woman in even fancier attire, would get out and politely tell the cabby to "keep the change". Most of all it taught her to be independent, life can be cruel, but as long as you kept a watchful eye, it didn't always have to be.
With that pleasant set of memories guiding her, she delved into the pool of nostalgia that followed, with no biased toward any particular memory as they made there way into her mind and subsequently into the diary.
"In 1964 there were no smartphones, the internet hadn't been invented, and though computers had been around for about 20 years, they were the size of cars and only top notch Universities had access to them. What I am telling you, My Dear 21st Century Children, is that if you wanted to learn a new skill, you either had to get the information from the source, or head to one of those buildings with the ancient tomes of knowledge we call a Library. You couldn't simply pull out a gadget and tell it to look up a how to video on the internet. That being said, having just entered highschool in 1964 I needed to learn how to make some passable clothes. Buying them was out of the question, any extra money we had got spent at the bars or on endless packs of cigarettes, and unfortunately the clothes I had been stringing along by the threads, Literally, weren't going to cut it anymore. Thats to say nothing of the leftover stench of cigarette smoke that dampened every fiber.

     So, with that in mind I made an excursion to the central hub of knowledge, The Chicago Public Library, and got a library card, of course lying on the line that asked for an address, having been evicted once already that year I couldn't actually remember the motel room number we were currently staying at. I checked out a book on sewing and began studying. It's important to note that home economics, a class impressed upon most girls, hadn't been taught yet and wouldn't be until that very semester, so I quit literally started from scratch. 
The first thing I learned was that sewing wasn't some magical art of producing new clothing. You needed "new cloth", and even more shocking, unless you wanted to spend the better part of a months free time sewing you would need a sewing machine. 
Well as you can imagine, I hadn't much funds to speak of. The only source of income I had at the time was the nickel that my own dear old grandma (a very kind woman who I will hopefully remember to talk about later) used to give me to buy a glass bottle of Cola, at the vending machine across the street from her apartment. Can you imagine a full bottle of soda, in a glass container mind you for a nickel. Those certainly were simpler times. Well simpler for some folk at least. As your high school history classes certainly taught you. This was about the time that the Civil Rights Movement was gaining traction. I haven't the knowledge or self recollection of how that went down. I can tell you that some folks were terrible to other folks, but unfortunately you'll find that in every page of history ever written. As for myself, I had my own battles on the Homefront to worry about and get through, I certainly wasn't going to waste time judging other people on their skin tone. If anything, I didn't see what was so tasteful in being overly pale. The most attractive girl in my grade was an Italian girl whose name currently escapes me. At 14 she was already basically a woman, and her skin was almost as tanned as some of the folks who weren't allowed to use certain restrooms. I digress, as I said earlier I haven't the ability to delve into such topics, I'll leave you kids to wonder the various books written by some scholarly folk (and some not so scholarly folk), to figure for yourself what happened. As for my story, I needed cash.
     As I said earlier, if you listen to the city it teaches, and if you listen carefully it provides. The Bible teaches that God provides and never gives you a task you can't handle, and even though I went to church with my grandma (again a tale for another entry), and even spent my elementary days in a strict catholic school. I never much cared for an invisible God. I needed something tangible, praying certainly never got us a place to live, and it certainly never stopped my parents addiction. However, once again I've delved into topics I'm not expert in, one could argue that God provided the city that taught me so much. Like I said, I didn't pay mind to theology much, but the city, that was real.
     So I paid attention on my walk home that day, and wouldn't you know it. The local candy shop was hiring. I went in and asked if I could have a part time job. The shop owner said that's exactly what he needed, as long as I was able to close down the place on weekdays.
      I didn't know much about accounting, or running a business, but I did know this. If I could jump on the subway at 2am, hunt down both of my parents at the bar and escort their drunken husks home. Than selling candy and locking up the place wasn't out of the realm of possibility for me. He asked when I could start, and I told him immediately. I added once school started my time would be limited. He said that wouldn't be an issue because at the time school ended he'd be looking to go home anyway. 
     He did seem rather taken aback that I seemed so eager. "Shouldn't a girl like you ask your parents about getting a job"? I laughed at that. I couldn't help it. The only questions they'd have is how much I was making, and how much they could skim off the top for their ever increasing addictions.
      As you can probably tell I got the job, and I tell ya kids, the time I spent in that shop were some of the most peaceful I'd ever known. The other kids would come in and I'd get to know them. Some of the boys referred to me as the "candy girl", I didn't have the self confidence to believe it at the time, but now I do believe that some of them may have found me attractive. That didn't much matter to me. I had a job to do and by golly, I'd say i was pretty good at it. The parents who brought their young kids in adored me and my ability to help the little ones pick out the perfect sweet treat. The husbands that came in appreciated my self declared fine taste in the delicacy known as chocolate. As they often times didn't understand or even appreciate the fine differences between the in the mystery that is the cacao bean and its many iterations in candy form.

      "That one is perfect for a quick treat but for your wife's birthday you'll want this kind. I made it myself today". Every once in a while I'd get a tip, but I never expected one. My very small but adequate wages were enough for me. Simply put the shop provided me with assurance that above all else. I was a person of worth. I did my job and was regularly thanked by the owner. Not only that but seeing everyone's eager faces as they entered, and their excited expressions as they left was all the bonus I needed. It was its own little sweet stop in the middle of the city, and I certainly was "Chicago's Candy Girl".
      After I got my first set of wages, which weren't much, but it was enough to buy a decent amount of fabric and enough to buy a very old and used sewing machine. My book taught me the basics and I taught myself the rest. I could have asked my grandma for help, but like I said, my biggest strength was my independence, and I wanted to learn for myself. After using several yards of fabric as practice, I had by the beginning of the school year 2 adequate (far from perfect) sets of clothes. A black dress as the first, and as the second a skirt and accompanying cotton blouse that would function as my school uniform. I made sure to leave these in a sealed bag at home as to keep the smell of smoke out of the fabric. I would  get home and quickly change and as I left for school every morning I would run out the door as fast as possible. As for my work attire, the store provided me with my own dress shirt and apron. Accompanied with my very own name tag. 

      Lynne Mckenzie, A.K.A Chicago's own Candy Girl. I never thought much of my namesake before, but seeing my nametag always brought me joy. I never thought I'd get even more joy from another's last name, but we'll again leave that story to another entry.
      I certainly did love that place. I worked there throughout all of highschool. Earning a bonus here and a raise there. He even let me try my hand at keeping his books once I started taking office preparation classes at the high school. It is noteworthy that once I started keeping his books he was able to actually go from reporting his taxes at the end of every year praying that big brother wouldn't take him for house and home, to reporting his taxes quarterly, and getting some much peace of mind himself. I ran an efficient ship if I do say so for myself. I left the place tidy and every piece of chocolate was treated like a child. The other such treats weren't as important. They got made, and made well, but they were more like step children to me than my actual offspring. In other words they came with the marriage whether you liked them or not. I haven't thought of that place in years...

    As you kids get older you'll realize just how easy it can be to forget yourself.  Leaving the candy shop for California was one of the hardest things I had to do. Of course I let him know months ahead of time what my plans were, I of course made sure to train the new hire to my best ability, but she didn't seem to love it as much as I did. I think it was the owners niece being forced to work by her parents. Dear Children it is never good policy to judge another person based on external observances alone, but I do say she struck me as fairly spoiled. No she would never understand the importance of the place nor would I waste to much time explaining it to her.  As they say. You can lead a horse to water but you cant make it drink.
 That man to this day, if he's still alive probably has no idea the kindness and peace of mind he gave me. 
I guess the lesson to be had here kids, is that life is never as bad or good as you think it is. As long as you mind yourself, you'll always have everything you need to succeed.

      So what's the point of this latest entry? Honestly, I think I just needed to remember what it means to be yourself. See there's no one thing that makes you who you are. It's a lot of little things repeated over and over that make you who you are. Sure there are some big things, but it's the little moments in life where you get to prove to no one but yourself what you are capable of. They also can be quite humbling, and there's no shame in it. Realizing that you do have limits is just as important as realizing just how brilliant you can be. It's those little moments in life that test you, they give you a chance to show yourself what your made of, and only you see the effort and rewards, and that's all that matters.