Into the Weekend 07.18.25

When I was growing up, it was pretty easy to tell who had the good parents and who had the rotten ones. In the good parent households, candy flowed freely, the TV was always on, and no curfew existed. The good parents gave healthy weekly allowances, spared their kids from hellish yardwork and other demeaning household chores, and only made their kids go to Sunday school on Sundays. 

The good parents always ordered in pizza, let their kids play Supertramp at full blast on the record player, and didn’t feel it necessary to monitor their CB usage. The good parents even paid their kids money for babysitting their younger siblings. 

By these measures, you’d think I grew up in a house with the most rotten parents of all. 

But you’re wrong. And that’s because they accomplished the one thing that elevated parents in Chicagoland to the apex of the parenting hierarchy, the pinnacle on the parenthood spectrum, the one thing that categorically proved their love for their children beyond a shadow of a doubt: they scored tickets to Bozo’s Circus for us.

In Chicago, there was no hotter ticket. Many parents sent in their Bozo ticket request the very day their child was born, often when the mother was in labor. With a 7-9 year waitlist, this strategy was the best shot for most families. Other more well-connected parents would exercise their privilege and cash in favors with their cousin’s boss’s lawyer’s accountant who was a brother or son or father or stepmother of one of the producers - or maybe even related to Cookie or Ringmaster Ned somehow. Fortunately, my parents never shared how they finagled the tickets - and it’s probably best that it’s kept in the vault.

Your parents either got the job done and fulfilled their kids’ dreams to attend Bozo’s Circus. Or they didn’t.

So while I was proudly participating in the Grand March, my pathetic friends had to adjust the antennas on their TV to watch Bozo at home while eating their cheese and mayo sandwich.

Many of our clients apparently still struggle with this abject failure from those years and try to make it up to their adult children - still scarred from their Bozoless childhood trauma - by doing the only thing that came even close: by helping their kids buy their first home. 

Some parents help with the downpayment. And some in the very guilty subset see an opportunity to finally right their wrong and purchase the entire home for their kids. And others just let their kids make it on their own. Whether you can or will step up to the plate to prove your love is a question only you, your bank account, your conscience, your financial advisor, and your god can decide. 

And my team and I will be waiting to help you when you do. With our Magic Arrows pointed at their dream home.

Have a great weekend!

Best,

Brad