I was the first to arrive. My American Airlines flight landed on time, just after 7 am.
Once I exited the plane, I followed the overhead signs. I descended on the escalator and located information for the Blue Line.
My father suggested on the phone there was no need to rent a car. The train would do just fine. He would know better than me. He was born here. Grew up here. First met my mom in high school and married her here.
Once upon a time this was home for me and our family. I was also born here. Until the age of 10 Chicago was home and is my hometown. It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been gone. Home is home. It felt good to be back.
At the bottom of the escalator, I carefully viewed four trains lined up at the station. There were a few options.
The conductor helped when she bellowed, “The train is leaving in three minutes! Keep moving to the left.”
I quickly located and entered one of the half empty train cars.
I found a seat facing forward next to a window. I knew I could easily people watch the folks seated near me as much as I could look out the large dirty windows. I saw drivers in cars, stuck in a line of endless traffic, heading towards their destinations. It didn’t take long for the train to leave the airport station. Sixteen stops later I left the train at the Clark/Lake station.
I have invested the last 119 days traveling with my beautiful, smart, and supportive wife Debbie. Our adventures have taken us around the United States and to Israel. We are not yet finished.
However, today is different. I flew to Chicago solo. She remained in New York, working at her job on her computer. I am on a mission to fulfill a promise I made a few years ago.
When my son went to college at the University of North Carolina, I made him a promise. Graduate in four years, I told him and you and I would go to Wrigley Field and watch the Chicago Cubs as my graduation present.
We were on target to do so when life delivered a nasty curveball ahead of our plans: Covid. Not one to give up on my promise, we shelved the trip. Delayed it. Now, it was time to make good on my word.
So earlier this spring, he and I agreed to meet in Chicago in September. No matter where we were or what we were doing we were going to make it happen. Meet in Chicago and take in a few baseball games, father and son. I was born and bred a loyal Cubs fan. I was thoroughly and effectively brainwashed by my father as a kid. It stuck.
I dutifully passed along my love of the game and passion for my hometown team to my son Tal. Even though he was born in Israel, he followed the Cubs closely and celebrated the 2016 curse busting world championship. Yet, he has never been to Wrigley Field.
Covid was the first twist to this story, but there is a second. I mentioned to my son that it would be special if we included my father, Jerry, his grandfather in our family trip. After all, he is the guilty party for forging this life-long family allegiance. My son quickly agreed.
So while I am the first to arrive in Chicago today, I am not the last of my family to do so. My son is on a plane right now, scheduled to touch down in a few hours. My father will follow tomorrow when he arrives from Arizona.
We will enjoy a boys weekend three generations in the making. It will include deep dish pizza, Portillo hot dogs and of course Cubs games. The results surely will produce more than a few cherished life-long memories.
And I will have kept my promise to my son.
Love it and love Chitown. How blessed are the 3 of you to enjoy this adventure together?! Thrilled for you guys. Went to HS with Mark Grace so I’m a cubbies fan too.