The Small World That is Chicago

I can't forget to tell you about the small world moment of the year that happened at Patty's party. We were out on the pontoon boat for a late night ride. One of the guys on the boat was Patty's friend from the dock where she docks her boat in Chicago. They call him "The Mayor" because he is like an ambassador and watchdog on the dock. I knew his name was Dave and he grew up in the city, but didn't know much more about him. I asked him where he grew up, and we went through the typical conversation that Chicagoans have when talking about locations.

It usually goes something like this:
1st person: Where are you from?
2nd person: The north side, or south side.
1st person: What neighborhood?
2nd person: Names the neighborhood.
1st person: What street(s)?
2nd person: Names the street(s) or intersection. If the 1st person doesn't look like s/he knows, the description could include things like, "It's about 20 minutes from the lake, or Wrigley Field, or downtown." (Everything is always about 20 minutes from each other)
1st person: Oh! I know _______ who lives there. Do you know him/her? or What grammar school did you go to? or I used to live there after college...

And on and on it goes, until you usually find out that in fact this person is a long lost cousin of yours, or was an altar boy at your sister's wedding, or had a friend who dated someone who went there once.

So I went through the motions with Dave, until we came to "What streets?". When he named streets that were in my neighborhood growing up, I asked the next logical Chicagoan question: "What grammar school did you go to?" And out of his mouth came the name of my grammar school. I think I may have said, "Shut up" at this point, I don't remember. Then I asked him his last name. When he told me, I couldn't believe it. In my school and the parish, there were a handful of families that dominated. These families were large ones, with multiple generations and extended family members also attending church or school in the parish.

When I told him my maiden name, he couldn't believe it either. Instantly, he started spewing information about my family and me like he was being interrogated about my identity. He knew all my siblings' names, my neighbors, etc. He is older than me, so he knew my siblings better than he knew me. Then we started talking and reminiscing about grammar school, remembering teacher's names, telling stories about different families.

I love when this happens. Because I don't live in Chicago anymore, it always amazes me when things like this happen. There I was, on a lake in Michigan, talking to someone who knew my roots, knew my experiences. I haven't kept in touch with anyone that far back in my life, so it always comes as such a surprise when I run into people that instantly relate to those past experiences.

It truly is a small world, after all.