Odds and ends with some a bit odder than others:
Why caps and gowns? Here’s a story that snuck up on me. I saw it as the mostly-annual debate over what seniors wore at graduation at OPRF. After a century of tradition — dark suits for guys, long white dresses for gals — there has been some restlessness in past years. All good. Teens speaking up is more than healthy. And so there have been some gradual concessions on attire. Young women could wear white pantsuits, shorter skirts.
This year, though, led by a thoughtful group of seniors, the discussion became more profound as all of us become attuned to the wider band of people who live somewhere beyond and between the static gender roles we have all basically taken for settled.
And so forcing all graduates into clothes that proclaim gender identity becomes more complex. Now the school board and the administration seem to be tuned into this more important conversation and I’d expect to see caps and gowns become the norm next year as we celebrate difference and accomplishment.
The most misdelivered letter: Usually when I get mail mis-delivered to my house, it is for a neighbor next door or across the street. Last week, though, I received the most totally errant piece of mail ever.
The single item in the hand-written address that matched up with the Haleys was the house number. That’s it. Wrong name. Wrong street. Wrong town. Wrong state. No ZIP. So now I’ll forward this envelope to Mr. Manager, Ingles Market on Fallston Street in Shelby, North Carolina.
Never heard a number: As the 1960s turned into the early 1970s, Oak Park was profoundly engaged in its remarkable experiment to create a racially integrated suburb. Completely uncertain that it was in any way possible. Mike Royko, the legendary Chicago columnist, defined integration as that period of time between when the first black person moved onto a block and the last white person moved out. And certainly, those of us who grew up watching the block-by-block resegregation of the West Side, the white flight, redlining and panic peddling, knew the odds were long for Oak Park’s efforts.
Until last week, though, I’d never actually seen a number attached to the white flight that threatened Oak Park back then. Two recent pieces put the number of whites who fled at about 10,000 out of a total population of about 60,000. That’s a lot of fear and a lot of moving trucks. But based on Oak Park’s remarkably bold initiatives to foster integration, it was an amazingly lower percentage than the 99 percent of whites who fled West Side neighborhoods they had loved for generations.
Forty-five years later, it is hard not to take our diversity for granted. But we never should.
Small, good things: Hole in the Wall, the iconic, well maybe beloved, OK really nice and good custard shop, opened up for the season about 10 days ago. Seemed early to me. But the owner told us Opening Day is tied to Spring Break and when high school or college-age staffers are available to go to work. So early Easter, early break, brought us early soft-serve. Hole in the Wall, by the way, is on Oak Park Avenue just south of the Ike. … Saigon Pho, a Vietnamese restaurant, is making its way from Forest Park to Oak Park. This place is a treat. Try the noodle soup. Wonderful. Even the small portion is huge. Opening soon on Lake Street just east of Oak Park Avenue. … White Sox win the opener (yes, so did the Cubs). No way can the Sox be as soul-grindingly awful as last year. And can the Cubs be as good as predicted? God, I hope not.
