My Kind of Town

As I walked down Navy Pier I looked out across the lake. The sun seemed to dance across the crystal-blue water. I stopped and turned towards the mainland. As I gazed lovingly at the skyline, I wondered if it was possible to love a city more than anything else in this world. The Sears Tower beackoned to me from the heart of the city. A sudden gust of wind guided me to the red double decker bus. I climbed the stairs and when I made it to the top deck the sun seemed to have burst open with even more energy. It warmed my shoulders and neck as the fresh smell of hot pizza took over my senses and the entire atmosphere of Michigan Avenue.
So many colors and cultures whizzed past as we drove through the neighborhoods. Chinatown, Little Italy, and finally Greektown. I climbed off the bus and headed towards that familiar scent of fresh pita bread, home made hummus, and the greatest of all Greek foods-Mr. Katz's gyros. Mr. Katz (as he liked to be called since many Americans cannot pronounce his last name) was behind the counter as always, turning chick peas and olive oil into delicious goodness. He was a very large man. In the sense of his circumference that is. Though he was rather short for a full grown man, his voice was always able to fill up a room. What little hair he had left had taken a salt and pepper look, and was always slicked back neatly with grease. He was also always clean-shaven, except for a very thick mustache that was carefully groomed. The one thing that you must know about Mr. Katz, though, is that he is just about as Greek as it gets. He has statues of various Greek gods and goddesses around the restaurant, and will speak in only Greek if a customer is rude or gives him a hard time. He believed that every human being is equal because we are just that-human beings-so we should treat everyone with respect. I loved this about him. But my favorite thing about his features were his eyes. Though they are brown, they lit up each and every time he opened the oven door-even after baking for thirty-five years.
"Opa!" I cheered as he turned towards me. "Miss Ishee! Why you no come to see me sooner? It has been a year!" he says as he embraces me in what I claim to be the greatest bear hug in the world. He asks questions like how is school going, what was I going to study at university this fall, and, my personal favorite, "when you gonna marry my son?" The answer he gets everytime is still the same; "When he moves to America and I actually get to meet him." He sighs and thinks of a clever response as Mrs. Katz comes bursting through the kitchen doors, arms filled with the best of every Greek dish and a bottle of their fine home made wine.
Though Mr. Katz ran the restaurant fand his household with an iron fist, his better half was always one step behind him, making sure he did everything right and with a smile. Mrs. Katz was one of those women who is so big you have to love her for it. I had never seen her without an apron on, and today was no exception. She had her black hair pinned into a loose bun at the crown of her head. Her complextion was slightly more fair than that of her olive-skinned husband. She also had crystal blue eyes that made you feel as though everything was good in the world when she smiled. I once asked her how she acquired these features since they were not native to the Greeks. She responded with "My mother was German, but she died in childbirth." I left it at that because it seemed to be a sore subject for her, and I hated to see her upset more than anything else in the world. Her laughter is by far her best quality. Followers of Hinduism believe that the universe began with a sound. If that sound was Mrs. Katz's laughter, I could believe that as well. It echoed through the room as her big belly shook. One thing she always made sure of, though, was that everyone was not just fed, but so full they were bursting at the seems.
"I thought I heard that beautiful Southorn accent of yours!" she exclaims as she lays all the food out on a table before us. "Come. Come eat all of this you need to eat somesing before you go." So the three of us sit down to a feast that could feed the entire restaurant. As she fixes me a heaping plate, I send a quick thanks to God that I skipped breakfast and lunch that day, because if you don't eat all of the food the Greeks give you, you will offend them-and you do NOT offend the Greeks. Then I tell them my plans to graduate from Southern and then move up here for a while. At this, Mr. Katz finally has his response. "I know!" he says, slapping his hand on the table, smiling like little boy who has figured out a clever riddle, "You gonna move here in four yeas. My son leaves university in Greece in two yeas. He will go to Missihippi and then you get to know him, yes?" I sigh with a smile. He knows I can't say no to him; "Sure Mr. Katz."
Now that he is satisfied, we talk about everything from the health of his family in Greece to the curse on the Cubbies. It's funny how I never realize just how much I miss this beautiful couple until I am united with them again. As the sun sets, however, I regretfully tell them that I must be going. The three of us hug, and by the time I depart, we are all sobbing like young children.
I will be back one day soon, though, I remind myself. I don't think I could live without this place. There is far too much to explore and too much magic not to return. The cool night air brushes my hair off my shoulders as I turn back to see the sunset. The sillouette of the city moves me to tears. Yes, it is possible to love Chicago more than anything else in this world.