The earliest visits all blur together. The car ride there was always the same. Me and my sister in the back seat, my grandma in the front, and mom driving. The cold air always pierced right through the car for the first little while, and even when it would get hot, I would occasionally press my face against the window for a cool-down. For most of the way, I’d play my GameBoy. First Advance, then Advance SP. I still remember the dorky plug-in light I had for my original Advance. I probably still have it somewhere. But while that happened, my sister would mind her own business, doing homework, reading, listening to her walkman CD player, or any combination of the three. The entire time, my mom and grandma would talk up a storm. Sometimes I would catch bits of their conversation, but most of the time, I was too enraptured by beating Mechagodzilla or getting Spyro to make that one jump. You know the one. The one that the glide misses by this much. But once we actually got downtown, the game would get paused, saved, and put away. I’d look up at all the buildings, some rooftops covered in snow, others too high to tell, all with a sense of awe, the architecture and scope of it all capturing my imagination as much as any movie with giant monsters would. The streets were lined with slush that would make wet gushing sounds as we drove over it. At this point, I honestly couldn’t tell you if anyone was talking, let alone what they were saying. I was entranced by my surroundings. Not always present, but very prominent is a certain parking garage near Water Tower. When you first drove into it, there was a long, spiraling ramp leading up to sections of individual levels. The sections were like any other parking garage, but that spiraling ramp was my favorite part. Especially on the way down. This idea was a direct counterpoint to how my mother saw it. I remember her wishing it didn’t exist.
Marshall Field's was, in a way, the highlight. Even though I would always hope I could find the KB Toys in Water Tower, Field’s was where the real magic happened. Going to see Santa used to just put the line through the toy section, which was good enough for me. They always had some really cool, old-timey toys there that my mom would never let me get, so I got as much of an eyeful of them as I could. Specifically, I remember this one 1950’s-style tin robot. I can’t recall how much of a fight I put up for it, but I know I didn’t come out of there with it. Santa was a different story. I was afraid of the Santa there. And really, all department store and mall Santas. I never knew why, but it made taking a picture an ordeal. I would mumble to him what I wanted for Christmas, then nervously smile for the camera, and get out of the room as fast as I could. I got better with it over time, but never really got over the weird feeling I had about it until much later, ie: when I was too old to care.
In my first memories of the Walnut room, my family complained about the way the tree was decorated. They said it was gaudy, stupid, not as cute as that one year. That didn’t really matter to me. I just liked seeing my uncle, talking to him, and having breakfast. Or was it brunch? Hard to say. What really mattered was the dessert. For two reasons: one, it was an ice-cream snowman with a marshmallow head and cookie arms, and two, it was the way my mom got a hold of the Santa Bear mug for that year. That was another thing. The Santa Bear mug and ornament. I’m pretty sure there was a line at least twice to just get the goddamn ornament. But we considered it worth it if it looked good enough, which, as time went on, it didn’t more often than not.
That’s actually another surprisingly big part of going downtown. My mom complaining. I already mentioned the tree in the Walnut Room and the ramp to park in the garage, but there was also much bitching about the food, and it wasn’t uncommon for her to complain about the parking, the weather, pretty much anything that was any discomfort.
But I never cared. It was a blast being there all the same. Even during the boring parts, like when my family was shopping. There was always something for me to look at, either to be taken by the thing itself or to make me mind start wandering to a much cooler place. Typically, I didn’t get anything from the shopping part aside from a new nutcracker. I had a thing for nutcrackers, getting a new one every year to add to my collection. Yes, I was a nutcracker collector even before I considered myself a toy collector. I just like collecting things, I suppose.
As time progressed, I went through a stage where I wanted to avoid spending time with my family as much as possible, but even at this time, I looked forward to the Christmas downtown trip. Although, at this time, I was much more interested in taking in the environment of the city. I started noticing things about the city that I never had before. Certain subtleties in the atmosphere that, perhaps to other people, would be boring were somewhat comforting to me. The specific color of the slush that lined the streets, the way light reflected off of the icy sidewalk. They made me feel at home.
That’s truly how I feel about the city. Even when I’m in a section of it I’ve never sen before, I feel like I’m home. Like this is where I want to live. Now, I could end up living there and be proven wrong, but for the time being, I’m very comfortable with the city at large. And I’m damn proud of this city, too. The culture, the architecture, even the somewhat touristy places like The Shedd Aquarium, Field Museum, or Sears Tower (not Willis Tower, dammit), they al feel so rich and rewarding. I can’t say I’ve ever been truly proud to be an American, but I am beyond proud to be a Chicagoan.
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In recent years, a new tradition has evolved for me and my family: the Kristkindlemarket. A traditional Christmas festival from Germany revolving largely around socializing outside and shopping from private vendors. The atmosphere is one of a family celebration, with the whole thing out in the open and just a warm vibe. In particular what sticks out in my mind is the hot chocolate. It has an intoxicating aroma that just blasts into your nostrils. The consistency is much like chocolate milk, and it tastes very much like the best chocolate milk you can imagine, but nice and hot to counter the blistering cold. When I went there with my German class on a feild trip, I tried some of the other food there, mostly sweets and the Bratwurst. They, too, were excellent. When I tried it, I instantly thought of the Sham-Wow guy “you know the Germans always make good stuff!” And when I went there for that trip, it was a time when I was really stressed at school. Even though, logically, I should have been totally unable to enjoy myself, I didn’t care about school or that one girl I liked, or any of that stuff. It was Christmas God damn it, and I was going to get in the spirit. It was Christmas and I was with nice people in my home away from home. No way I’d let some stupid assignments or whatever get in the way of that.
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