Financial Pee

Saturday, we went over to my friend Garth’s house to help him make cannoli for a big Italian dinner/”Godfather” viewing party he was having later that night.  I try to expose Elijah and Luca to Garth as much as possible so they will know what a real man looks/acts/smells like.   In the hour we were there the boys learned what a cocktail strainer was for and what a headstone was for.  Had they stayed longer, I’m sure they would have learned what a chest opener was for.

Garth lives an hour way, so we had to cruise out of there well before his guests arrived so the boys could get to sleep before sunup.

Within three minutes of entering highway 290, which links the west suburbs to the city, both boys declared the need to pee.  No no no.  You had your chance before we left.  You are bored.  You don’t have to pee.  This isn’t a great neighborhood and I don’t want to pull over.

Elijah didn’t seem to be lying.  His complaints took on a decidedly damp turn.  I scanned the side streets for a gas station that looked E Coli free (there weren’t any) or an alley that looked Crip or Blood free (there weren’t any).

I saw our turn off for highway 90/94 and the traffic was at a complete standstill.  I swing the car off the exit and headed towards downtown Chicago. 

Eli went critical.  Thankfully, Garth had given us a few Vitamin waters for the road.  I poured a bottle out and handed it to Eli.  Like any good cross country truck driver, he instinctively knew what to do.

Luca, on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure of the concept, so he needed a full stop.  We began to enter the financial district of Chicago.  Board of Trade.  Freshly bailed out banks.  Absence of soul.  Luckily, the streets were empty as well, so I pulled into a relatively crime free alley and opened the door for Luca.

“Daddy, I’m scared, “ Eli said.

“We’re pretty safe,” I said, “The worst that can happen is a cop stops us.  But I think he’ll get a kick out of it.”

I pretended we were waging a small protest against the evils of the 1%.  Take that, I thought.  Completely ignoring my own daily contribution to capitalism and, well, my general overpaid-ness.

Luca protested in his own way, by whizzing all over the inside of the car door.  Take that, fathers!