Hello, summer!
I summoned my daughter Parker outside to share a moment with her last month. Pablo Picasso couldn’t have painted a prettier day for me to present my slice of paradise.
The sun beamed. Birds sang. A breeze danced ballet on my bald head.
Of course, Parker protested.
I probably interrupted her beloved screen time, which could explain why she begrudgingly trudged to meet me at the top of our building’s lower set of stairs.
There, as my elbows rested on the gate while she calculated how many times she could wrap hers around the guardrail, I exposed Parker to my favorite place in Chicago — our front stoop.
Parker’s mile-a-minute, 10-year-old brain labeled the scene boring before she gave serenity a chance.
She deliberately squinted so hard she purposely rejected rays from the abundant sunshine. Parker was determined to pierce through the tranquility of silence with stubborn talking. When I insisted on 60 seconds of quiet, she did her best to cause commotion with her wiggling and fidgeting.
Hopefully in time Parker will come around. Maybe soon she’ll share my appreciation for our little space and others around the world like it.
It’s a free place of peace.
That makes my stoop far and away my favorite place in the city.
Any semi-private spot at Lake Michigan is my second choice. But between traffic, crowds, parking, food and not having my own bathroom nearby, a trip to the lake is much more of a hassle. It’s certainly not Langston Lake, where solitude supplants a crush of civilians. But it’ll do.
But no other place can match the comfort, convenience and chill vibe of my stoop. It brings me calm despite living in the heart of a cacophonous city.
When I’m in the mood, my stoop also serves as a sweet hangout spot for family, friends and neighbors. Suburbanites would be appalled at the all-nighters that go down in front of my building.
One former neighbor in our building threatened to call the police on me and two other guys once. This was the summer of 2020, an emotionally charged summer steeped in civil unrest.
And on that night, we weren’t even loud. But the woman’s audacity to suggest we go somewhere else coupled with her threat to tempt us to be obnoxious. We resisted. But we didn’t budge from my stoop until well after 4 a.m.
The woman moved out a few months later.
It’s not often I go hard like that anymore. It’s gotten harder for me to hang.
My stoop is morphing into a place I want to hang with Parker. On May 11, another gorgeous day, I called Parker to the stoop to sit with me.
That was the day we had the old birds and the bees talk.
It wasn’t as awkward as I imagined it might be. It felt similar to one of our early money talks — another subject many find difficult to discuss. But just like money, the basics were all I needed to explain for now.
Parker had just one question.
“Who’s the birds and who’s the bees,” she asked.
We Googled the answer and we both learned something.
If I had my way, all of me and Parker’s most critical money talks would take place on our stoop.
Finally, we’re in the season.
At 3:51 p.m. central time Thursday, summer officially begins.
While I’d vote for fall as my favorite season, there’s nothing like Summertime Chi. Natives don’t like seeing it promoted. Those who understand this city’s charm like to keep its summer magic on the hush.
But anyone who hasn’t experienced Chicago in the summer should make plans. It’s all I needed to fall in love with this place.
For the better part of three months, Summertime Chi almost makes you forget all that ails this beautiful city.
And I’ve got the best spot in town.
The best things in life “are free” or “don’t cost you nothing” and “can be found in your own backyard” and “are shared with the ones we love.” Makes me want to sing “Summer, Summer, Summertime, Summertime!!”