I crossed Illinois' northern border to attend college. Despite being a Bears fan, the cheese state was good to me. I ate cheese curds, discovered Culver's frozen custard , learned the chicken dance, ate a supper club wedge salad, covered shifts during deer hunting season and reached a détente with Packer fans. Despite my cultural appropriations and assimilation, everywhere I went, I told people, “I’m from Chicago.”  There weren’t a lot of us from the city, but whenever I met

I expected a boring mid-week union meeting. Instead, I experienced a church service. I know you’re thinking, Joey Mac - why go to church on a Wednesday evening in mid-winter? It wasn't Ash Wednesday and The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe was on a Friday. The truth is, I felt the power of the holy spirit several times.   Recent Transitions The service (meeting) started with a remembrance of the dearly departed. Instead of "Rest in Peace," we said "Rest in Power ." The Lector

By Joey McDermott - “Your father is such a putz ,” a Yiddish phrase I learned from Ronald, a non-practicing Jew. Ronald was the only...