Vickroy: When you share a birthday with a major metropolitan city, an ode seems in order

Halloo, hallay

From the Bean to Union Station

Here comes a day

For citywide celebration.

 

On this March 4

By proclamation of the mayor

Chicago adds a year

While I simply turn grayer.

 

You’re a windy 187,

Me, a century-plus less

We have the same birthday

But not the same noblesse.

 

From Rogers to Lincoln

To Morgan and South Deering

Your invite list spans

Edison to Clearing.

 

Meanwhile, down south

My bash will be humble

Around my kitchen table

Atomic cake bits will crumble.

 

Chicago, my birthplace,

With each year grows bolder

By contrast,

I wane and only get older.

 

Your relevance, your vibrancy,

Your unique flair

Your grit, your wind

Your history of dare.

 

Your games, your shows

Your food and your drink

Your politics, your graft

That nod and that wink.

 

We both rose from nothing

Our fears we’d defy

While I leaned on work

You “knew a guy.”

 

Your river, your buildings

Your festivals galore

It seems age enhances

your skylined shore.

 

Meanwhile, in the suburbs

I wrinkle and wilt

Under the weight of the years

March 4 makes me tilt.

 

Chicago gets older

And yet is revered

No matter the scandals

Its critics have jeered.

 

You still have vitality

Style in the bag.

In some ways, you grow younger

Your mile more mag.

 

I envy the fondness

Advanced age brings

A collection of neighborhoods

Of revitalization it sings.

 

For things become vintage

And are given center stage

While people just get older

A drain on the wage.

 

Yes, we share the day

In fact, we share a lot

We both prefer summer

Spent on somebody’s yacht.

 

We hate our traffic

But love our location

We take on the chin

Our chains to transportation.

 

We both have our issues

Some problems like boulders

For a time in the ‘80s

We both had big shoulders.

 

We’ve both known some pain

Some success and some loss

We’ve both hailed victory

We’ve both shunned the boss.

 

We both love our drama

Although mine’s mostly backstage

We both bemoan traffic

Pot holes and road rage.

 

We both love our Jordan

We both hate the Mets

We both question our choices

The colder it gets.

 

We don’t need so fancy

We don’t need high end

Give us good pizza

A beer and a friend.

 

We both love adventure

We’re proud of our scars

We both have long stories

We’ve left in the bars.

 

So much in common

Yet so different a day

As Chicago grows grander

I whittle away.

 

In the shadows

I bask in your birthday glow

I collect your confetti

I applaud your show.

 

I’ll take my small day

Sprinkled with your big noise

Riding your coattails

Is one of my joys.

 

Happy Birthday, Big town

Happy Birthday to us

Now go get in your limo

I’m OK with the bus.

Donna Vickroy is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist who worked for the Daily Southtown for 38 years. You can reach her at donnavickroy4@gmail.com.

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