The Front Porch

Aunt Mary by the Front Proch

When I was a kid my mom would send me to Grandma and Grandpa's house for a week in the summer. It was quite an eye opener for little suburban Alan. The smells, the sounds, the sights, like nothing we had out in Tinley Park. Let's start with the smell. My grandparents lived in Back of the Yards. Called Back of the Yards, because it was on the back side of the Union Stockyards as seen from downtown Chicago. I thought it was called that because everybody had a backyard. Tiny little postage stamp sized backyards. Nope, it was the stockyards. And from those stockyards emanated a stench comparable to a pair of socks that had been worn for one month straight without washing, by somebody with very sweaty feet. Next, the sounds. Buses rumbling down fifty first street, fire engines always in the distance, and neighbor's radios and televisions leaking out through the open windows. Those sounds bounced off the very tightly packed houses and commercial buildings. Back of the Yards is where I learned to love the look of the city. Bricks, old wooden houses, bars on every corner, and the sidewalks. For me it was a treat to be able to walk all around the neighborhood on city sidewalks and not worry about getting hit by a car. Tinley Park had no sidewalks other than down Oak Park Avenue. So that was my early city experience, Grandma and Grandpa's house.

The best part of Grandma and Grandpa's house was the front porch. That was where most people hung out on Ada Street back then. Every evening folks would sit out on the porch for a bit and watch the goings on up and down the block. Neighbors would stroll by and say hello, and I thought it was quite grand. Grandma's porch had one of those glider chairs on it where two people could sit and slowly swing back and forth while sipping on lemonade, or in Grandpa's case, beer. Last night I got nostalgic for the old porch. I live in Chicago, I live in a neighborhood, and I have a porch. I have a very nice porch with a bench on it for sitting. So I made myself a cocktail and went out front to sit. I sat, and I sat. It wasn't the same. No smell of the stockyards, probably a good thing. There were sirens, that hadn't changed, but there is no bar on every corner anymore. But what the hell, I had my own cocktail. Still, I sat and I sat. No neighbors strolled by, I assume they were watching Big Brother like Mark was. I soon realized that television and air conditioning had killed sitting on the porch. So I picked up my cocktail and went inside. Besides, Scout had been beside herself watching me through the window, barking and carrying on. Porch life just isn't the same anymore.

On the Porch