In honor and elation of the Chicago Blackhawks hockey team playing in the Stanley Cup finals, I have written a two part post, essay, ode to, obsessive rant...about a city I love and why. The Hawks skate Saturday night at home in game #1. The caliber of hockey during May has been outstandingly exciting, so if you've not really liked to watch because it seemed boring or like slow motion (because it can sometimes), then NOW is the time to experience how furious and fast and ferocious men can be with pounds of sweaty padding taped onto their already buff bods while balancing on two blades, slamming against bodies and boards, sprinting and slashing and scrumming on ice, all the while strategically planning the puck's next route into the net. Genius!
Chicago seemed so far away. The big buildings and bright lights. The long car ride on the busy highways. The unexplored territory heard so much about on the TV, radio, in song lyrics. Didn't Frank Sinatra sing that song?
Suburbs of Chicago. That's where we lived. Wheeling first, then Palatine. You may or may not have heard of them. Famous for nothing. My husband grew up in...wait for it...Arlington Heights! Yep, the one with the horse race track. Now that's special, if you gamble or own horses or live nearby. So we are suburbabies (I just made that up). Where our parents landed.
As the big city grew and caught up to our forests and farmlands, as the highways and byways widened and exited into our lanes and boulevards, the mess meshed and we emerged as one. One big happy family called Chicagoland or Chicago Area or northwest suburbs of Chicago. My kinda' town, she is. No matter what you call her, she's a gem of the Midwest. Really. Trust me on this. The city is unique and cultural and secretive and warm.
...walking among the sky scrapers, which claim the tallest of the world at one time or another, watching the walkers and noticing news, visiting Sue at the Field Museum and touching everything scientific and industrious, catching a ball game at the friendly confines or Sox park (I refuse to rename any of it: what you talkin' 'bout Willis?).
Fireworks and music and parks and gardens. Museums and galleries and mom and pop greasy spoons. Street vendors and tour guides and homeless citizens begging for attention. Daley and Ditka. Peyton and Picasso. Buckingham fountain and the Flamingo business district. Blues on the Mall and Taste of Chicago. The Bears and Blackhawks and bus routes and boat tours. Ferris Beuhler and ferris wheel at the pier. North Avenue beach volleyball, Lincoln Park zoo. Namesake University, O'Hare's airport, remnants of the fire. I-90, I-94, I-80, the Kennedy, the Borman, the Eisenhower, the Skyway, the Loop, the circle and the "L."
Regardless of my address, this city is where I LIVE. My family, my friends, my schoolmates, my memories live there. Elementary school field trips, family outings with Annie and the Nutcracker, visits to friends living with doormen and valet parking, hosting relatives from out of our town, Water tower shopping and Michigan Avenue wishing, fancy restaurants serving escargot and baked Alaska, Frango mint sundaes at Marshall Fields on State.
Chicago is my constant. My rock steady. I count on the colors and comfort of the usual suspects. I visit for verification, for reminder of my reality. She sorts me into my slot and nudges me nearer to now. Change doesn't wait for me to catch up. Names and numbers and nuances must be relearned. Even mine. She's keeping me aware and awake as I age. Teams and tourist traps guide my growth. The elevated train drives me to reconnections and new views. I believe in this metropolis and she believes in me. We're friends. Old friends.
I may have mentioned my infatuation with Chicago sports teams once or twice. Chicagoans are fanatic for sure. Affiliation with a team may be in your blood or inherited from your best friend. Lifelong. Games and stats and predictions fill bars and coffee shops and water cooler conversations. Lovable losers and the billy goat. Jim McMahon and the Superbowl Shuffle. Jordan's air and Harry's specs. WGN and WFLD. Jerseys and ball caps and banners decorate children's walls and parents' party rooms. Flags fly on game days and our own private civil war rages April through October.
I've attended each men's pro events. With or in place of friends, tickets purchased or gifts received, sporadically or seasonally, icicle eyebrows or sweaty seats, win or lose...each experience remembered and savored and enjoyed like no other since. Despite my lack of organized athleticism, I learned to respect the rules of Chi-town fandom. Even today, living in Michigan and paying several sums of money to Michigan State University to educate our daughter, even despite my enthusiasm for the young Red Wing who skated into our community's heart, besides the fact that I graduated from a college in Indiana, my love for Chicago sports reigns supreme. Wherever I travel I spy Chicago team logos. Chicago fans relocate but never jump ship. Next time you watch a Chicago team play an away game, notice how many supporters are in those unfamiliar seats and listen for the chants and cheers made famous only in Chi-town...my kinda' town.
...to be continued soon.
PEACE,
~L
3 comments:
lol
Go Blackhawks!!! :)
Wonderful summary of our city. You've discovered much of it in your young years despite growing up in Utopia. I, too, have loved Chicago, but I grew up a mile from Wrigley and traveled the city via el train for 7.5 cents per ride as a tyke. And unfortunately, Palatine is (in)famous for one thing (think Brown's Chicken) and that "thanks" to 2 former FHS students of mine.
Chuck,
I thought about the Brown's Chicken murders for about 30 seconds and decided to keep it light...your students-YUCK!
I have much more to explore in our fair city. I love the L and hope to journey it's rails again.
Happy weekend,
L
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