Dance Marathon III: Of Carnival and Caring

It’s a pleasure to return to Dance Marathon, to join the fun, and join you in supporting the vital work of Riley Hospital – a work that makes a huge difference in the lives of countless kids and their families. 

This year’s theme – Carnival – got me thinking: Carnival, especially in New Orleans, is really about partying right before Ash Wednesday because Lent is coming. Literally, etymologically, carnival means “saying goodbye to meat” because you’re about to embark on a 40-day journey of fasting. 

In other words, real carnivals might involve riotous celebration, but they’re also tinged with sadness: There’s an awareness that the partying will soon stop and not return for a while. 

Maybe we share those mixed emotions here, because we might be whooping it up, but we’re doing it in solidarity with those who are facing big challenges: The kids at Riley, their families and friends, even the doctors and nurses trying to help them get beyond those challenges. 

My family has known such challenges, especially when my son, Nick, had to have open-heart surgery when he was just one. The carnival of celebrating his birth and life, of getting to know him, was true joy his first year. Then, when he had to go under the knife, our joy was, in a sense, put on hold. Everything was on hold – almost like we held our breath while our little Nick was a Riley patient. We fasted from merrymaking. It was like a Lent while he recovered. 

But here’s another funny etymological oddity: The word Lent means springtime, and it’s true that, even in this season of waiting for Easter redemption, we are surrounded by reminders of new life coming: Grass is growing; flowers are blooming; days are longer and warmer. Truly, winter darkness is at an end; the light of good times is on the horizon! 

So it is with the Lent that so many Riley families experience. They put their lives on hold to care for their sick and injured kids with the hope that things can get better. That they will get better. The folks at Riley are dedicated to doing everything possible to make that hope a reality. Like so many, we are grateful to them, and so also grateful to you for supporting them in supporting us. Thanks!
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Nick was privileged to share about his life at the 2025 Saint Mary's College Riley Dance Marathon on Sunday, April 6. The annual event raises funds for Riley Hospital for Children, which provides critical life-saving treatments and healthcare services for kids from our region. For more information or to make a donation, follow this link.

We Can't All Be Ben Folds

Upfront, I confess I know nothing about Ben Folds himself, but I like his music—what I've heard of it anyway.

From time to time, my daughter makes a point of having me listen to a song of his, and she plays his stuff in the car pretty regularly. It's exuberant, fun, occasionally meditative—not a downer in other words. Joyful. Happy even.

Van Morrison is like that. With few exceptions, it's hard to listen to a Van Morrison song without feeling better. Not any particular lyric necessarily, or any particular song. It's something in his attitude, his disposition. There's a smile that runs through all of Morrison's songs, and it's catching. Paul Simon, too.

My impression is that Ben Folds' music does something very similar—it has a mood, a flavor, and it reminds you of goodness. People naturally gravitate to music like that, and the musician that stands behind it. We want to be like Ben Folds, to internalize his vision—to be Ben Folds perhaps.  We think, "If I could just write great songs that make people happy and do concerts and tour the country, my life would be great!" But not very many people get to hit that jackpot, and I'd imagine Ben and the others would tell you it's got plenty of downside in any case.

But there is a key to the good life in all this I think: Ben Folds' music makes us grin and tap the steering wheel and put aside our burdens for a moment because it communicates a hopefulness and a buoyancy that all of us crave. "Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly," wrote Chesterton, and that angelic attitude is just what we need in these oh-so-serious times.

We need it, and we try to internalize it, but here's one more thing to keep in mind. That hopefulness and buoyancy and joy is especially accessible when you're 16 or 20, and healthy, and well fed, and open to a future of possibilities. It's a bit harder to bring it to the surface later in life, when you've got too many bills to pay, and your back hurts after a long day at work, and the car breaks down, and the mechanic says it can't be fixed.

Then, Brown Eyed Girl comes on the radio, or maybe Tupelo Honey. And you pause and listen, and you know it's all OK, despite all the junk and the noise, and that you have a lot to be grateful for, that you want to give something back. Twenty years from now, or 30, will Ben Folds' music do that for you?

I suspect it will. Assuming that's the case, bravo, Mr. Folds. And thanks.