You Got That Right

I used to say, with Leo, we didn’t so much babysit as baby-chase; that boy had—and has—a near-endless supply of energy. Only his little sister has more. You try running after a whirling dervish. Michele and I (though, honestly, mostly Michele) tried to keep up with our charge for over eight hours yesterday, at the end of which my wife was not in the mood to make dinner. Given that my culinary skills don’t extend much beyond can-opener and microwave, we decided to go to one of our favorite summertime spots, La Barra, in nearby Riverside. Ordinarily, I don’t care much for sports’ bars; they bring out the worst in me. I mean, who wants to sit across from someone whose face is glued to a TV screen? No, we go for the outdoor tables; the pizza; and the parade of humanity that passes on sidewalk and street, the backdrop provided in part by Frederick Law Olmsted, who laid out Riverside back in 1869. Think trees, curved streets and Victorian water tower (plus train station). All of it helped relieve aching, grandparent muscles. After filling up on thin-crust pizza topped with sausage and mushrooms (curious Chicagoans want to know, I’m sure), we got up to leave, passing a couple on our way. The woman looked up at me and immediately did a double-fist pump in the air while shouting “Yea!” For a second, I thought I had myself a groupie, but only for a second, because the woman immediately shouted, “First place!” I was wearing my 1959 White Sox cap. I smiled back and nodded. Cheers by association is just fine by me.