City Kids

I live in Chicago and have often thought about the challenges of raising our son Max in the city.  We live just around the corner from a few bars and restaurants, the bus, the train.  It's only a matter of time before these adult conveniences flash brightly as beacons of wrong-doing.

But who knew it would come so soon.  I went into Max's room one morning a few weeks ago and found that his crib had been tagged.  I asked him where he got the spray paint and he pretended not to know what I was talking about.  But kids are bad liars.  I told him I didn't think any serious spraypaint artist would give themselves the name "lil hayre."

lil hayre

Last week I found a fake ID underneath Max's crib mattress.  To his credit he came clean right away, saying that Jorge on the corner was running a special and he thought he'd take advantage of the bargain price.  I told him that I wasn't impressed with his thrift since any ID that pegs you at five years old isn't worth any amount of money.  Then we had a frank discussion about scams.

Being a dad is hard work.  Between the carrot smoking and the formula binge drinking, I'm trying to hold this family together.  And Max can't even walk yet.  I remain optimistic, however, that the values and lessons we've discussed are making their way into the little man's DNA.  Maybe when he's two or three he'll settle down a little bit. 

I doubt it.