America the Beautiful

One of the many reasons I love New York is all the different people you meet. Taxi drivers are some of the most interesting characters. Every race, religion and personality is represented at the wheel. Today I spent the better part of the afternoon in Riverside Park watching Zach play soccer. It was a perfect day...the sky was blue, 65 degrees and the sun beaming. Unfortunately, they lost, but it was still a fun afternoon.

I grabbed a cab home and knew the minute I got in I was in for a ride. Driving the taxi was a white man in his early 30s with a southern accent and a shaved head. We exchanged pleasantries about the weather and then he started the story he was obviously wanting to tell. Late last night he was driving in Times Square when two very large men got in the car announcing they were going to the Bronx. As he told the story I could sense his fear. He said he couldn't find a policeman on any block and decided to deal with it himself.

All the while he's telling this story with his strong southern accent and all I can think is he's racist. He tells me that he decided to stop the cab and tell the two men he was not going to the Bronx and to get out of his car. Which he did....and they did. He gave me a quick armchair shrink analysis of why they left..surprise, shock, off guard.  Unfortunately, he then launched into some of his political views. This was America at its finest.

You can't trust government and politicians because it and they are corrupt and every American should be armed. If the 6 million Jews that died had guns, they would have defeated the Nazis. Something told me this wasn't the time to tell him I'm Jewish. And then it dawned on me...mid-30s, male, white, shaved head. A skin head in NY. I know they're here, but this was a first for me. I've always admired Morris Dees and supported the Southern Poverty Law Center and the 20 minutes I spent in the taxi confirmed why I do.

I'll be right off

I think I'd be a very different mom if iPhones and Blackberries had been around when Zach was born. I had a cell phone 16 years ago, but I remember only using it for emergencies....meaning I never really used it. But now, I would just be distracted and would not give Zach my full attention.

Being home with Zach for his first 5 years, I loved watching and making silly faces at him in the stroller when he still faced me. Even when I turned him around and he faced the world, I would talk to him. I always talked to him.  Honestly, some of the best times I've spent with Zach have been walking down the street - without interruption. Sixteen years later I still feel the same way. Grabbing those moments on the way to school when you can just talk...about anything.

I see moms walking down the street, on playgrounds and in doctor's offices talking on the phone, answering emails and sending texts. They're definitely muli-tasking, but their children don't seem to be part of the equation. I wonder how the kids feel. Do they know they're being ignored? As they grow up, will they ever give their moms undivided attention or will they reciprocate with the same lack of attentiveness? What saddens me is if children don't fee like a priority, do they feel loved unconditionally or like they're playing second fiddle to a device?

PS - In fairness to moms, dads are just as guilty, if not more, but I hold us to higher standards.

Trayvon...and the truth

I remember many years ago - probably 25 or so - walking on Park Avenue with my brother.  We reached 71st Street and he was continuing up Park and I was going over to Lexington. After I said goodbye and turned to head down the block, I noticed a man on 71st Street and got a strange feeling. 25 years later I couldn't tell you what made me feel this way or what he looked like, but I decided not to walk down the block.  I said to my brother that it must be nice to be a man and not feel physically intimidated and not think about your personal safety the way women do sometimes.

Since first hearing about the Trayvon Martin murder, I've been outraged as a person who thinks we live in a civilized country. As a white mom of a 16 year old white teen, I'm stunned an innocent young man can be shot walking down a street. I worry about my son's safety, but I can't imagine being the mom of a black son and worrying about his safety with the additional element brought on because of his skin color.  Or clothing. As a woman I don't think I'd be afraid if I saw a person coming toward me wearing a hoody. I certainly wouldn't be afraid if I were a man. And if I had a gun, well, if I had gun, I'd only be afraid of something bigger than a gun.

I am afraid of injustice and double standards. I am afraid of the message that's being sent to black teens. I am afraid of the fear we've raised higher in the hearts of parents of black children.  I love our president for his ability to be empathic. I believe in my heart the truth will come out and an arrest will be made soon. I hope Trayvon's parents feel the support they have from many people of all colors in this country and around the world. And I hope this strength helps them through this horror.

Little Pink Book

As I was cleaning out a couple of drawers this morning, I found an old phone book from about 25 years ago.  In that little pink book were the names I haven't thought of in probably that same amount of time, and there were also several people listed that I have no recollection of ever knowing. No doubt I did know them at some point, but hard pressed to remember their faces. There were also stores listed that no longer exist, but those were the days of shopping for wants not needs.

Unfortunately, there were also names of too many people who aren't alive anymore. Family members and friends from school, work and other places and times in my life. Some died young and others lived very full lives. A bit shocking to see so many in one little pink book. I was grateful for the unexpected time to think about them again and enjoyed immersing myself in the 80s and 90s.

But the best part of finding this relic was how many friends in that little pink book are still in my life, albeit most with new and many more phone numbers. Some have been constant fixtures and others have had extended breaks...but all can be called friends.  Having friendship's with history, whether it's 5 years or 25 years, is to be treasured.

As I read each page for more memories, I couldn't help but giggle at the neatly written entries. My handwriting since the computer has been anything but legible. In years to come, with all contacts safely stored in our computers, people won't have the opportunity to find a little pink book while cleaning out a drawer...that's unfortunate since it made cleaning out the drawer this morning a little more fun.

Flight Tracker

10 years ago when Zach was six years old and asked to take a Mandarin after school class, I never thought that I'd be here now watching flight tracker. He and a group of kids from school are on their way to Beijing for two weeks. 14 hours on a plane...13 hour time difference...half way around the world.

It's hard having Zach this far away, but this is the next step. He can go to China and see Tiananmen Square, walk on the Great Wall, become more fluent, teach English to younger students at a school, and eat scorpions. What he is really doing though is building memories, learning about life, testing himself, and becoming independent.

We raise them to be part of the world and then go out into it and make a difference. I trust Zach in the world...it just feels a little hard trusting today's world with my son.

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