I live in NYC and I love it.
Living here does not come easily, though, and sometimes I question why I
fight so hard to continue living here, even raising my kids here. So I am creating this entry as a bit of
reference material, to remind myself, in
those moments of doubt, the advantages of raising your family in NYC.
Smells
I only recently realized that my children do not recognize
the smell of freshly mown grass. Mmmmm –
when I smell it, it really brings back childhood memories (blah, blah blah, smell
is most powerfully connected to your memory, blah, blah), mostly of my father
mowing our enormous lawn on his riding mower, while wearing a pith helmet. You know, the way everyone’s father wears a
pith helmet when they do yard work. But my
kids smelled freshly mown grass for the first time several weeks ago and they
literally quizzed me on that novel scent.
At first I felt bad for my poor, deprived children – what kid
does not know that smell? As I pondered that question, I realized that they
were fluent in other scents, maybe even more important ones. As the warm weather descends on NYC, it is
accompanied by a menu of new odors.
Specifically, a magnificent trio – garbage, urine and vomit. And before you can even start to gag on a stench, my kids can identify it. “Ewwwww…
garbage!” Or “Vomit again?!” Honestly, being able to distinguish among these
stenches is a useful skill – it alerts you to what you are just about to step
(or sit) in. Identifying the smell of
freshly mown grass only alerts you that there is likely a 6’2” white man in a
pith helmet in the vicinity.
Subways
We don’t have a car and we rarely rent one or ride in taxis,
so my kids are just not used to cars. This
is just so odd to me. If you don’t have
a car, where to do you toss your fast food wrappers? And my kids don’t get riding
in a car; nearly every single time we ride in one, they cannot figure out how
to open the door from the inside. For
years they spent every ride we did take with their noses plugged, those same
noses that are so finely attuned to city stench, convinced that all cars have a
simply unbearable smell. Many a driver
was insulted (or pleased – I am still uncertain). And when my kids are old enough, I have
literally no idea how they are supposed to learn how to drive. They are going to be those people who, when
traveling to other parts of the country, constantly get asked the question I constantly get asked when
people learn I am from NYC – “Do you even know
how to drive?” And they may have to say no.
OK – but they can ride a subway or a bus like no one’s
business and it has taught them very valuable character traits. When I first arrived in NYC, I was actually
timid about pressing the tape that alerts the bus driver you need to get out at
the next stop. Why? No freakin’ clue. But one day I pick up my 18-month old to get
off the bus only to find the doors have already closed. Before I can say a thing, the tiny snowsuited
bundle in my arms shouts out “BACK DOOR PLEASE!!” Riding the bus breeds assertion! As
preschoolers my kids were allowed to sit in the seats up front, seats reserved
for the handicapped or elderly, but each knew that should a member of one of
those groups board, that kid had better remove her tiny tush from that seat
pronto. Riding the subway breeds manners
and respect!
Sports
When I was a kid and it snowed, we went sledding. My house
was on a corner and on one side was “the little hill” and on the other side was
“the big hill.” (It took us years to come up with those names, finally holding
a statewide contest.) Five or six kids
would join us on the big hill and we would take turns sledding down the gentle
slope until our hands felt raw or we were no longer sure we had feet, since it
had been a good hour since we last felt them.
And then inside for hot cocoa with marshmallows.
That’s not how things work here in the big city, not by a
long shot. Sledding here requires your
kids to be fully engaged, all senses on alert.
Here, since the entire neighborhood shows up at the nearby park, and sledding
is not as simple as you go, then I go.
It’s literally 200 children, teens, and, so help us all, dogs, all at
once sledding down an ultra-steep hill transformed into ice by the 2000 kids
who got there before you. (In NYC there is always some lunatic who arrived at 4
AM – to do anything first, whatever it is.) Sledding here is more like some
kind of sick video game where you are crossing 10 lanes of other sledders, all
of various ages and skill levels, fully half of whom are facing backwards while
another 50% cannot brake, and not one of those sledders is looking out for
anyone but himself. As you shoot down
that hill, you gain speed with each foot you cover, only to slam into a fence
at the bottom. That’s right – the sledding
hill ends abruptly in a 10-foot tall chain link fence. Sure, the city has put out bales of hay
(where does the city get bales of
hay, in the middle of a snowstorm, no less), but you are still hitting those
bales at your maximum speed. In NYC, sledding
is a contact sport and to survive it, your kids had better be running on all
cylinders – but think of the great preparation it is, should they ever learn to
drive.
Well, today my ten-year old saw Tina Fey, her
total idol, as we passed in her in an intersection. And, like my friend, my daughter was was also disappointed that she had not been able to snap a quick picture,
despite the iPhone that is practically grafted to her hand. But, let’s be honest with ourselves - which
would you rather see when you are out and about? Hint – Tina Fey will not turn over your
garbage cans or talk to you about whether toilet paper sticks to your bum. One hopes.
Sightings
Today a high school friend of mine who still lives in our
beautiful hometown posted about a sighting.
She had seen a bear! In her town! But she was sorry to say she had been
too slow to grab her camera.
