I spent yesterday with a 9 year old – in New York City. We’ve been once before together – NYC is a guilty pleasure for me which I try to indulge in at least once a year – and G asked to go again. What never occurred to me was how a nine-year-old would view New York City when we had no specific plans, no must-do-while-here list.
1. They don’t care about museums, famous monuments, or 9/11. At least, they don’t care yet. We visited the WTC site, as his grandmother had “suggested” that he should see it while we were there. So we stood over the pit left behind, now filled with construction workers, pylons, and building detritus. Machines groaned, metal squealed, and over it all, voices yelled directions and questions as the massive “Freedom Tower” takes shape. As we walked back, passing the gutted earth that will be memorialized when the project is completed, G looked up at me. “Where are the twin towers? I want to see them yet.”
I glanced at him, shielding my eyes from the aggressive sun. “Uh, dude. These are the twin towers. Or what’s left of them.”
He squinted, looking around us. “Where?”
I swept an arm towards the massive enclosure that hides the construction from street view. “All this. This used to be the World Trade Center – or, the Twin Towers. That was the World Trade Center’s nickname.”
His mouth turned down. “What? You mean, they’re not here any more?”
So I explained to him – again – the events of 9/11/01. Of course, he wasn’t yet two when the planes crashed and killed thousands.
His mouth dropped open, annoyance flashing in his light eyes. “That stinks! I wanted to see the twin towers! Why couldn’t they have blown up something else?”
2. A playground in Tribecca is NOT the same as the one in Central Park. And neither is the same as the one in your hometown. Therefore, a four hour drive is well worth it for a playground visit. You read that right. We drove 3.5 hours, took a bus into the city, and spent the bulk of the day in playgrounds and Central Park. Don’t get me wrong – they were nice playgrounds. And Central Park has a nice carnival with overpriced games and rides…just like the ones at home. But to a nine-year-old, they are unique, offer entertainment surpassing that of Madame Tussaud’s or Ripley’s Believe It or Not, and in many ways, are a pathway to an imaginary world adults will never understand. So I ate overpriced ice cream, sat on uncomfortable metal benches, and waited while he enjoyed a childhood I can’t quite remember having…even though I have the pictures to prove I was once his age.
3. People yelling in public frighten kids – especially when “fuck” is the major component. Yes, the homeless are no longer the sweet, pity-inducing beings that shake a can for coins while propping up a “Will Work For Food” cardboard sign on the corner of the street. No, now they are indignant citizens trying to make a decent living. And those of us “fuckin’ privleged” class aren’t making it easy on them. “Eight fuckin’ dollars” for an “entire fuckin’ day’s efforts” are “not fuckin’ acceptable.” Or at least that was the opinion of the homeless woman in Central Park. I thought G might have a meltdown.
4. Hungry prophets yelling on the subway frighten kids as well. This one had a cleaner mouth, and a distinct God-speak to his plea. He was dressed in new shorts, nice Nikes, and had a darn nice backpack, but apparently, there are thousands upon hundreds of thousands of people going hungry in this country every day. It is up to good folk like ourselves to help them out. So he held out his baseball cap – a very nice Yankees hat – for us to step up to our civic duty and buy his dinner. Didn’t seem to be any takers on our car, so we got a sullen, “God bless you,” which sounded as though he would have preferred to invoke another deity and epithet, and he headed for the next car. I didn’t point out to him that the sign on the emergency doors forbade him to travel between cars while the train was in motion. Why stop a man workin’ hard for his supper?
5. Why risk local foods which you don’t know anything about when there is a McDonalds across the street? I thought I might have to hogtie G to get him to try NYC pizza. Let’s face it – there is nothing like the greasy, dirty kitchens of NYC’s finest pizza makers to turn out the best pizza on the planet. And do I even need to say it: garlic knots?! He finally submitted to my insistence on getting real pizza in a real pizza joint…and he seemed satisified with the cuisine. But I didn’t miss his longing stare towards McDonalds when we passed it in Times Square.
Thus our second trip to the city was a success, albeit an uneventful one – no puking, exploding toilets, or debit card mishaps this time. The next trip is sure to include a stop on Broadway. My suggestions of Wicked, Billy Elliot, Mary Poppins or Shrek fell on deaf ears. Instead, big eyes met mine: “How about that Phantom of the Opera one we passed? That looked totally cool!” :sigh: