Checking in to Disneyworld

checkbook“You are going to pay us back with a … check???” My daughter Laury (famed creator of the Forever Plan) was absolutely incredulous.

Laury was calling to say thank you. We had returned from our surprisingly sunny seven days in Orlando where we had rented a 6 bedroom house for Laury and Alex, Mike and Becca and all the grandkids. We spent our week splashing in the pool, swishing down ginormous water slides, barbecuing, board gaming, Heads Upping, and having a blast.

Oh yes, we hit every one of the four Disneyworld theme-parks meeting Mickey and Minnie and Elsa and Anna, smearing ice cream on our faces and waiting in those scientifically engineered queues. A two and a half hour wait to spend 4 minutes on the “Avatar-Flight of Passage”3-D simulator ride? That’s nothing. Fastpass? We don’t need no stinkin’ Fastpass.

Some other things we discovered on the trip:

  • If your neighbors are getting way too loud in their backyard, send your three-year-old granddaughter out in your own backyard with a handheld microphone that blasts “Let It Go” and let her belt out the few lyrics she knows. Your neighbors won’t last outside for more than 2 minutes.
  • “Baby Shark” is viral for a reason. Just singing it quietly during a runway holdup is enough to calm our 6-month-old grandson. It must be something subliminal.
  • A friendly Alamo Rent-A-Car agent at a conveniently placed office can save the day when a nine-inch nail punctures one of your front tires.

Anyhow, during the course of the week, Laury and Alex ran up some ancillary expenses that I wanted to reimburse them for. I got the dollar amount from Laury and told her she should expect a check from the bank in a few days. And that is when a note of panic rose in her voice. “A check? Really? I don’t think we have seen a check in years. I don’t even know where to deposit one. Don’t you have Paypal, or Venmo, or Google Pay?”

My generation gap is showing. I still use checks. Lots of them. Some I handwrite, some are printed on my home printer (recently declared by Laury to be the loudest and slowest printer in the world,) and some are sent directly from my bank. It makes money seem tangible and lets me track where it is all going.

And I am not the only one. I receive checks from other “old” people too, though I am technologically advanced enough to deposit the checks electronically.  I even balance each one of my checking accounts (yes, I have a few) every month, something I have been told is absolutely unnecessary when your phone tells you your bank balance with a click and a glance. I just love to hear that ding when my desktop computer software (no laptops for me) tells me my checking account, and perhaps all the world, is in balance.

So Laury–expect a check.  It is a piece of paper in a digital world.
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Why “Build Me a Wall” Hasn’t Worked for 50 Years!

defenseFriday afternoon, 1967. A schoolyard in Rogers Park. The sun is shining brightly, but the nip of late fall is in the air. No grass grows in this schoolyard. This isn’t the mean streets or the jungle, but this is still a Chicago Public School, and amenities like grass are thought unnecessary. There isn’t much graffiti, just a couple of rectangular boxes spray painted against one of the walls, strike zones for games of fastpitch. But no one-on-one pitcher vs. hitter game is going on over there this afternoon. It’s autumn, it’s football season.

I am one of ten or 12 eighth-grade boys, Converse All-Stars on our feet, who have taken possession of the boy’s playground, a flat, unmarked, blacktopped area. The game is almost over, the other team, ahead by a touchdown, kicks off to us. The ball hangs in the air for a moment, before descending into the arms of Bob, our team captain. He is a schoolmate, not exactly a friend, someone whom I recently saw for the first time in 45 years.

Bob desperately wants to win this game and knows a dramatic kick-off return can spark us to victory. He cradles the football against his chest and begins his run forward. Hoping to get blockers in front of him he bellows out “Build me a wall!

Build him a wall? How can we do that? Do we want that? The options race through my young mind. We can say the other team should build the wall for him. We can point to a small pile of stones by the fire door and say that we have already started to build the wall. We can advise him that statistically speaking, the wall won’t get him any closer to the endzone.

But Bob is foaming now, quite furious. He wonders if some girls watching from the sidelines are laughing at him. He screams that he will stop the game until someone builds him a wall. Or he’ll call Dr. Gray, our school’s phantom principal, out of his office to declare a schoolyard emergency and get the wall built that way.

It’s been over 50 years, and it is my duty to let you know Bob never did get his wall. And no one with any sense has called for one since.



Yes, we are back blogging at ChicagoNow. The month-long experimental voyage to WordPress was OK, but problems at that site with proofreading/editing, poor search engine visibility, and lack of good realtime readership statistics there have led me back to my friends at ChicagoNow. I hope none of our readers were whiplashed!



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