is a single mama in the city, super-savvy editor, writer, video host and shameless shoe whore.
Pressing pause on Palinization terror for this beachy bit: Staycation redux, day two
Thursday, September 4, 2008 
Oh yes, I am terribly behind on this vacation reporting. And if it wasn't for Twitter and The Colbert Report, I may very well be stalled into complete Palinized silence. Or perhaps that's terror. But probably more like determination to get my own Obama shirt and hunt down the Sharpies and poster board signs. I'll be ranting about reproductive justice and book banning and the crisis of teen pregnancy in our country and that green flying squirrel dress cape-type Cindy McCain was wearing last night, but all in good time.
For now, let's rewind from the RNC balloon and confetti drop (did you catch Sarah Palin saying, "It's beautiful!" as it all came falling down over the audience full of strategically-planted people of color, like she'd never seen such things in these here parts outside of Alaskeee...oh wait) back to simpler, happier, DNC days of vacation, so long ago and just last week:
On the way home from the Field Museum, as we made our way down a stretch of Lake Shore Drive, I opened the windows so we could really take in the gloriously blue lake to the east, the students rowing crew to the west, the skyline just behind us to the south and the sailboats lining the harbor just ahead.
I pointed out the bridge over Lake Shore Drive at North Avenue Beach and I told Lil E about how I remembered my mom walking my brother and I across it on summer days when I was a kid. I told him about how hot the bridge felt, how it vibrated from the cars below on my bare feet. I told him about how my parents took us there on warm evenings to put those bare feet in the water, eat Italian ice and watch the moon rain down on the city.
He asked me if what kinds of sand toys we played with and if grandma held our hands as we crossed that bridge. He asked me to tell him more stories about the beach, listened quietly behind his sunglasses and then said quietly, "I would like to go to that beach."
"That would be fun," I agreed in sort of wistful, someday maybe sort of way.
"I would like to go to that beach tomorrow," he said, correcting me.
"Really?" I was surprised. Our options were open but LegoLand and riding on a double decker tour bus downtown and taking an architectural boat ride along the Chicago River were on the table.
"Yes," he said adamantly. "I want to go to the beach tomorrow."
I was in. How could I not be?
"Then that's what we'll do," I said, smiling.
The next morning I mentioned that maybe we should try another beach that might not be so crowded and Lil E interrupted me quickly.
"NO MOMMY! THAT beach. The one you goed to with Grandma!"
That made me smile even bigger. He wanted a bit of what we once had, and I got that. It sounded good. And it had been.
Those kinds of memories are unmistakably warm, mostly because my parents were educators and home in the summers and that's most of our relaxed, easy family time happened. For that reason and for me, this is why I think Chicago's at its best in months between the chill of spring and the chill of fall, when blue wraps around the city from the stretch of the lake to the top of the skyscrapers.
So we would snap up a bit of that summer warmth ourselves, my boy and I, during this week we'd been calling Mommy and Lil E's Vacation Adventure.
There was just one thing: The water.
(Read on about my shivers to touch Lake Michigan after the jump).
I have this love/hate relationship with this span of
Lake Michigan. I love looking at it, love living this close to it, love
how it frames the grit and steel of my city. I don't, however, want to
touch it.
At least above the ankle. Walking along the beach in
the evening as the sun sets? Lovely and serene. Playing among the
Pampers and hypodermic needles under the pretense we're all in Cannes?
I think not.
No, that's not at all fair. Most of the Pampers have
washed up some tributary or creek or to the ocean by this point. I
shamelessly admit my prejudice remains, though, and I was intent. If we
going to the beach, we were going to wade, not swim. We would be
hitting the sand, not the slimy surf.
With that intention packed up with sandwiches,
blankets, water, snacks, sunscreen and sand toys, I got us both
dressed. That's right, dressed. In undies and shirts and shorts and
socks and the whole bit. On the way to the car, fully clothed and
carrying overloaded tote bags, I stopped for a moment and thought about
going back inside to grab beach towels and swimsuits and then chided
myself for even considering the audacity that we'd (what?!) swim
(gasp!) at the beach (where?!).
Lil E seemed fine with my explanation that this was
more of a beach for playing in the sand than swimming but was probably
really just happy that I wasn't making him lug around all those plastic
dump trucks and shovels.
We made our way to the bridge and I felt the swell of
nostalgia and the excitement of spending the day in the sunshine as we
crossed over the cars toward North Avenue beach. Lil E was talking and
talking about what he wanted to play first as I caught a glimpse of the
people already there, lined up on their blankets and eating picnic
lunches and buying ice cream from the guys on bicycle carts. And there
they were among those beach-goers: The moms and kids jumping, laughing,
running and swimming in Lake Michigan.
They looked happy and like they were having fun and,
I admit, not at all soiled with toxins or at a loss for limbs or blood
or gasps of clean air. I felt...so silly.
Here I was, leading my little boy to the beach and
across a bridge that was the main character in one of my favorite
childhood memories and I couldn't just embrace the day and the place
and the time for what it was. I was too worried about garbage to grasp
the moment. I was more concerned with pollution than playing.
Let's face it, we live in a mega-urban environment.
We are lucky to have big, healthy trees lining our streets. The same
streets we drive down to intersections where we sit in traffic inside
huge and invasive carbon footprints. Our neighborhood doesn't currently
have a recycling program and the viaduct under the El train blocks away
is home to about eight million disgusting pigeons. Minimum. That's
where we live. I have no problem carting my kid around the city in the
car and taking him places on the train and making all of those trips
into urban adventures for him. So why couldn't I just let us dip more
than our feet in the water?
I squatted down next to him as descended the last of the steps from the bridge to the beach.
"I was wrong," I said to him, sunglasses meeting
sunglasses. "I should have brought our swimsuits and I am sorry I
didn't. I was being too cautious this time and it was silly. But how
about this? How about if we swim anyway?"
He nodded and smiled and I whispered the kicker to him.
"In our clothes!"
Lil E cheered and turned to run into the sand. I
watched him go in his t-shirt and shorts and flashing gym shoes and
socks. Our car seats would be soaked, but it would be just fine.
It was more than fine, actually. Sure, we flicked
cigarette butts and candy wrappers away as we dug trenches in the sand,
but really, the area was much cleaner than I anticipated.
And oh, how we played in the water. We splashed and
he body surfed and I spun him in the air around and around and into the
little waves that collected at my waist. We had a great day together,
feeling free and rebellious and relaxed.
When it was time to head home for a nap, I promised
Lil E an overpriced ice cream bar from the hut at the other side of the
bridge. He shivered under the red and white blanket I wrapped around
him, both from his dripping clothes and the anticipation of a Neopolitan ice cream sandwich.
I held his hand as we crossed back over the bridge,
remembering the feeling of sandy feet inside shoes that I felt so many
times as a kid. Then while I held on to my tote bags while he licked the ice cream running down his hands, I felt proud that when we went back to this beach,
we really went back to the beach.
We saw some of the best of Chicago that day. And the
view from the water at North Avenue beach, I have to say, was even more
beautiful than I remembered.
Later, and then later still and then again the before bed when went back through all those options now held for Day Three activities, Lil E smiled wearily, almost hazily at me and said every time, "Tomorrow I want to go back to THAT beach."
When I tucked him in for a long, hard night's sleep, he added one last directive.
"And this time, Mommy, we wear swimsuits and you get to eat an ice cream too!"
It was a deal. It was such a deal.
Reader Comments (2)
And many memories of cruising Lake Shore Drive.
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