Educating Chicago
My 15 year-old daughter, Abby, and I felt the urgent need to see the sights of the city and educate a few urban dwellers.
We thought we should attend a wedding, too, while we were there.
We landed at O’Hare International and took the crowded train downtown.
The lack of eye contact with people who stood millimeters from me was unnerving, but
gave me time to observe how people mix the obvious dichotomy between high fashion and practicality.
While I was observing others, I caught a few glances toward my town clothes – a button-up, collared shirt, Wranglers and hiking boots.
I can’t wait to see my new trend in the fall fashion magazines.
Riders thinned as we rode toward the south side of Chicago. We began to pass the rickety back steps of narrow brick apartments and hair extension salons.
I tried to not watch a drug deal going down across the aisle, but I couldn’t resist checking out the size of a $20 baggy offered for $10.
I’m pretty sure it was a bargain.
When we stepped off the train, I looked at my map. It would be no problem to pack our two duffle bags a couple of blocks to the hotel.
People on the sidewalk caught my eye and quickly looked away. I smiled back.
“Do you think they can tell we are from out of town?” I asked Abby.
“Yes, Mom. They know,” she assured me.
A sweaty 37 minutes later, we decided my tourist map was useless, but we found our hotel.
The next day, the Cubs were playing.
So many people were riding heavy blue bikes that curiosity overcame me.
We could rent bikes and ride to the game.
We rode with a polite crowd along Lake Michigan until a kind passerby told me that my back wheel was about to fall off.
No wonder my bike sounded like a galloping horse, rhythmically clanking as I pedaled.
Abby giggled.
“You’re the only one who would rent a broken bike.”
I called the rental company, who directed me to the nearest kiosk.
We detoured into bumper-to-bumper traffic, toward awe-inspiring, iconic, claustrophobic, 30-story skyscrapers.
We wandered among the swooping pigeons, panhandlers and the sounds of the city until we found someone to point us to the game, arriving during the bottom of the sixth.
For some reason, hot dogs at Wrigley Field taste better -- probably because they are made with beef.
The Cubs lost to the Giants, but that didn’t seem to matter.
After the game, crowds filled the blocked-off streets, smiling with beers or donuts in their hands.
The couple who sat next to us on the train said they try to see a baseball game in every city they visit.
I like that tradition.
They needed to transfer trains, too, and we all ended up stepping into different cars on the wrong train.
At the next stop, we looked for them and they looked for us. Then we all laughed.
The wedding was about a mile from our hotel.
This time, fashion beat practicality so it was time to download Uber for the first time in my life.
Over the next couple of days, our Uber drivers included a 3-time NCAA swimming champion and a man without one thumb who makes those great, all-beef hot dogs.
We rode in the shadows of greatness.
The next day, we visited Northwestern University to relive old times.
On Move-In Day.
Everyone assumed Abby was a freshman, even asking her for directions.
I was thrilled.
Abby was not.
I encouraged her to claim a welcome bag.
She refused -- until her brother texted her to embrace the moment and take the free swag.
She was disappointed when they couldn’t find her name on the admission list.
No swag.
As we pulled into the ranch, I was proud of all that we taught Chicago.