Spring 2025: Philadelphia

If you have spent more than five minutes with me, you probably know how much I love the Rocky movie series. I was probably Eva’s age when I first dreamed of running up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art just like Rocky Balboa…perhaps even with Rocky Balboa (though multiple attempts to proposition Sly Stallone for a run and a Philly cheesesteak on me were, unfortunately, unsuccessful.)

But this past school year we completed a U.S. Government and Constitution curriculum, and I wanted to take the kids to see in person Independence Hall and the other historical sites we’d studied together. So for Mother’s Day, we spent a long weekend exploring Philadelphia, which culminated in a run up the Rocky steps and a check mark on my bucket list.

Our first day in Philly, we explored Reading Terminal Market and enjoyed gluten-free corn dogs at Fox and Son’s, a charming carnival food booth inside the market. For dinner, I made reservations at The Victor Café, where the restaurant, Adrian’s, that Rocky owned in Rocky Balboa was filmed. The wait staff at The Victor are all professional opera singers, and they take turns singing a number from different famous operas every 20 minutes, so the experience at this cafe includes dinner and a show. The food was delicious, and we ordered the crème brûlée for dessert (the first time the kids and I had ever tried it; it was good, though a little over-caramelized on top). It was gratifying to get dressed up and pretend to be in Rocky’s restaurant for a night. (Okay, I was the only one pretending, but still…)

We dedicated our first full day to all things history, starting with the President’s House, where George and Martha Washington (and briefly John and Abigail Adams) lived, and the Liberty Bell. The bell cracked down the side the very first time it was rung, when the citizens of Philadelphia were summoned to hear the first public reading of the Declaration of Independence. The giant fissure down the side has become a valued part of the bell’s history, and the symbolism of its notoriety coming from its major flaw wasn’t lost on me.

But did you know there was actually another bell, the Justice Bell, designed and commissioned by a woman, Katharine Wentworth Ruschenberger in 1915? The bell’s clapper was chained, preventing the bell from ringing, to represent the silence of women who didn’t have the right to vote. It was loaded in the bed of a pickup truck and taken on a road trip to tour all 67 of Pennsylvania’s counties to raise awareness for the women’s suffrage movement. When the 19th Amendment was ratified in 1920, ensuring women’s right to vote, the Justice Bell was rung 48 times—once for each state in the union—during a celebration on Independence Square in Philadelphia…and it didn’t crack. (Maybe the Liberty Bell should have been designed by a woman, too, but I digress.)

After the Liberty Bell, we toured the cemetery where Benjamin Franklin was buried, along with several other signers of the Declaration of Independence and Revolutionary War heroes. We walked on to the house and burial site of Betsy Ross, the creator of the first American flag. (She’s apparently to credit for the five-pointed stars on the flag; George Washington initially asked for six-pointed ones.)

For lunch, we walked to Oh Brother’s in Old City to cross off another Philadelphia bucket list item, (gluten-free) Philly cheesesteak. We enjoyed the laid-back vibe in this restaurant and the mural of Philadelphia icons on the wall (including mine truly, Rocky Balboa). Then we walked down the block for ice cream at the vintage soda shop, the Franklin Fountain. (I loved how the employees wore bow ties.)

We meandered through the grounds of Christchurch, and then window-shopped our way to our guided tour of Independence Hall.

I’ve mentioned that I’m no historian and didn’t care much for the subject in grade school, but something about standing in the room where the Declaration of Independence was signed made me emotional. To think about a room full of men, prepared to commit treason in their quest to form a more free country, signing the sacred document by candlelight in a humid, stuffy room…well, even I can appreciate that. To see the chair with the rising sun that George Washington sat as the president of the Constitutional Convention—just to be in that same room was special.

We then toured Carpenters’ Hall, where the First Continental Congress met, before exploring the grounds of Benjamin Franklin’s property and print shop. We watched a demonstration of how his printing press worked, and the graphic designer in me totally geeked out before heading back to the hotel for a break.

Saturday evening, we regrouped and walked by the famous LOVE sculpture for a photo op and then walked through the open-air city hall, stopping to wave at strangers in Poland through the portal in the courtyard (yes, this is a thing, and yes, they all waved back!), before heading down S. 12th Street to Sueño for street tacos. The food was delicious, but there was a moment during dinner when we heard loud bangs coming from the street outside and started getting nervous. They grew louder and louder, until a drum trio marched into the restaurant, the beats of their drums ricocheting off the walls, which I could have sworn began to close in on us. “Put down the guns; pick up some drums” was emblazoned on a sign hanging from the front-man’s tom, while the guy in back wore a full Elmo costume. This must have been a local treasure, because a group of girls at the bar began squealing and pulling out their phones, remarking that they’d never been able to see this group in person. The street performers added some excitement, but it freaked out Eva so bad that Kelley had to sit outside with her for the rest of our meal while she calmed down. So if you’re ever in Philly, be on the lookout for the traveling drummers.

Sunday was the icing on the cake for me. Early that morning, we headed down the street to the Philadelphia Museum of Art to run the Rocky steps and see the Rocky statue. I wore my custom-ordered “Win Rocky Win” shirt and played Gonna Fly Now on my iPhone as we walked. Yes, I looked ridiculous, and no, I didn’t care one bit.

There are actually two Rocky statues; the real one, which sat at the top of the front steps of the museum, and another smaller one in a shaded courtyard off to the right at the bottom of the steps. We visited the smaller one first, where a random man stood ready to offer to take our photos. He had the Rocky soundtrack playing on his boombox and had just finished taking photos for another family, so we obliged. For a small cash tip, I got about 40 posed photos of our family in front of the statue.

Then the moment I’d been waiting for finally came.

I had “Gonna Fly Now” cued up to the part in the song where Rocky ran the steps, a gaggle of kids trailing him. Kelley was going to video the kids and me reenacting the scene while the music played, and then I’d return the favor for him. He gave the signal, and we took off, flying up the stairs at maximum speed. We got to the top and jumped up in the air, our fists above our heads. My heart was soaring; I’d played out this moment in my mind repeatedly over the years. Everything had to be perfect, and it was perfect.

Until I turned around and caught a glimpse of Kelley.

He was still at the bottom of the stairs, frantically waving us back. Puzzled, the kids and I descended the steps to meet him. “You’re going to have to redo it; the video didn’t record.”

…

So we ran it again. I heard the kids coaching each other “not to pass Mom” as I skipped up the steps, which pushed me to pick up the pace, but our second run was a bit slower. The sunny, 30-minute brisk walk to the museum, followed by our first sprint up the 72 steps, had me panting and sweating. Why I thought wearing denim shorts and my hair down were a good idea is beyond my comprehension. At least I looked camera-ready, even if I had sweat dripping down my back and was breathing heavy. But like my favorite quote from Rocky IV, which is emblazoned on the base of the Rocky statue, says, “Going that extra round when you don’t think you can, that’s what makes all the difference in your life.” (Seeing this quote on the statue made me tear up.)

Well, so I got to run the Rocky steps twice. Then Kelley took his turn, and we snapped two dozen more photos with the real statue. I didn’t expect to cry, but as I gazed up at the statue against the brilliant blue sky, the emotions overwhelmed me. I stood in Rocky’s memorialized footsteps and thought about how much this moment truly meant to me. I reminisced about my teenage self, tacking Rocky posters on my bedroom wall for inspiration during my workouts. I remembered holding my Sony Discman as steady as possible, careful not to make my Rocky soundtrack skip as I’d go for runs through my neighborhood. Unwrapping my Rocky box set (on VHS!) the night I graduated from high school.

I thought about the night I walked into the Baptist Student Union at Mississippi State University for a worship team practice and noticed a 2-ft. tall talking Rocky doll standing underneath my mic, a gift from my bassist and friend David, who’d seen the doll on a trip to Philadelphia and thought of me. I’d hosted an all-day Rocky marathon at my apartment my freshman year, and David was one of my friends crowded in our tiny living room. To this day, it’s one of the nicest surprises I’ve ever received; one of the times in my life I felt the most seen.

Getting to share that moment with my family after having watched the movies with the kids this year was so meaningful. (You know, just raising up the next generation of Rocky fans over here.) It was the perfect Mother's Day gift.

We closed out our weekend with fresh-made, gluten-free doughnuts and popcorn chicken from Okie Dokie Doughnuts in South Philly before heading home. (I do not recommend running in the heat and then eating a warm Boston cream doughnut.) Philadelphia felt like a city of hard-knocks; it was dirty, and there were people passed out on park benches and sidewalks from illicit drugs or alcohol, which was heartbreaking to witness. It’s a far cry from the historical gem of America’s past. But as the gritty backdrop for the rags-to-riches underdog story of Rocky Balboa that I love so much, it brings to life the possibility that beauty and resilience can rise from ashes.