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judecorpMy good buddy ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
murnkay wrote this great little piece about New York City and what it means to him, how he feels having grown up there, and what it means to really belong to a city. It's quite a beautiful read and I highly recommend it.
When getting ready to comment to him, I started thinking about the gaggle of memories I have about the City, how many mental and emotional snapshots I will carry with me until the end of time. The great thing about memories is that after enough time, you really only remember the good stuff. I hope that when I'm 100 years old, I will remember my life as strings of joy.
When I was about 12 or 13 years old, my father and I went to the City to catch two Yankees/Red Sox games. My brother stayed behind, as he wasn't a big fan of baseball. We went with my father's best childhood friend and his sons, but had our own hotel room so it was basically a father-daughter trip. My father wasn't /quite/ the hermit then that he is now, so we took outings with some frequency, but not big trips. This was definitely a Special Occasion.
I remember getting my first views of Yankee Stadium, the steepness of the grandstand, the differences in crowd members. I was wearing my navy blue Yankees t-shirt with Don Mattingly's number emblazoned on the back. He was my favorite Yankee at the time. I had a team box of baseball cards in one hand and a hot dog in the other. Life just didn't get any better for a tomboy in the late 1980s.
That weekend, my father slipped a cab driver some extra money to show me "an authentic New York City cab ride." We crammed into the back seat, I sat bitch and wobbled as the cabbie drove erratically through the New York night. He even tapped my father's friend in the butt with the front bumper. We went careening through the City dodging cars and traffic lights. I gripped the edge of the seat while my father looked so alive. We headed to the restaurant where I saw the largest dinner bill of my childhood existence. That night, I tossed and turned with frenetic energy in my sleep. I rolled so much that I pushed my father off the bed, and he knocked over a lamp on his way to the floor. I never woke up. I'm sure I was dreaming of the Bronx.
Later that weekend, my father slipped money to the maitre d' at Sardi's so he would give us a formal announcement to the room. "Mr. -------, we've prepared your regular table." All eyes were on us and I felt like prepubescent royalty. We ordered the cheapest thing on the menu - strawberries and cream - but felt like millionaires.
A few years later, my father boarded an Amtrak train with me to the City so I could try out for Teen Jeopardy! We wandered around and went into photo booths and basically exhausted ourselves until it was time for our return train. I didn't make the show. A few months after that, I returned to New York for college, and learned the intricacies of the City I'd always been a tourist in.
Jodie and I explored our new playground with our post-high school freedom. While visiting for my college graduation, my brother expressed surprise that I knew the subway system. "This is where I've been living," I explained. The City had embraced me, as it had years before, gripping the seat of that cab.
I remember driving into the City inPrincess's car, club music blaring, my hand fiddling with the material of her skirt. I remember the lights catching my irises, my heart beating with tall buildings, electronic pulses of sound, and new love.
The smell of the City always clings to my clothing and my luggage, an olfactory scrapbook. Her dirt gives me color, her rough edges make me brighter, and her harsh sounds give me calm. I know the City will always welcome me as her visiting cousin, her old friend. She knows I don't belong to her but she loves me anyway, grants me hospitality and shows me a good time. And then, when she sends me on my way home, she watches me turn back and wave.
murnkay wrote this great little piece about New York City and what it means to him, how he feels having grown up there, and what it means to really belong to a city. It's quite a beautiful read and I highly recommend it.When getting ready to comment to him, I started thinking about the gaggle of memories I have about the City, how many mental and emotional snapshots I will carry with me until the end of time. The great thing about memories is that after enough time, you really only remember the good stuff. I hope that when I'm 100 years old, I will remember my life as strings of joy.
When I was about 12 or 13 years old, my father and I went to the City to catch two Yankees/Red Sox games. My brother stayed behind, as he wasn't a big fan of baseball. We went with my father's best childhood friend and his sons, but had our own hotel room so it was basically a father-daughter trip. My father wasn't /quite/ the hermit then that he is now, so we took outings with some frequency, but not big trips. This was definitely a Special Occasion.
I remember getting my first views of Yankee Stadium, the steepness of the grandstand, the differences in crowd members. I was wearing my navy blue Yankees t-shirt with Don Mattingly's number emblazoned on the back. He was my favorite Yankee at the time. I had a team box of baseball cards in one hand and a hot dog in the other. Life just didn't get any better for a tomboy in the late 1980s.
That weekend, my father slipped a cab driver some extra money to show me "an authentic New York City cab ride." We crammed into the back seat, I sat bitch and wobbled as the cabbie drove erratically through the New York night. He even tapped my father's friend in the butt with the front bumper. We went careening through the City dodging cars and traffic lights. I gripped the edge of the seat while my father looked so alive. We headed to the restaurant where I saw the largest dinner bill of my childhood existence. That night, I tossed and turned with frenetic energy in my sleep. I rolled so much that I pushed my father off the bed, and he knocked over a lamp on his way to the floor. I never woke up. I'm sure I was dreaming of the Bronx.
Later that weekend, my father slipped money to the maitre d' at Sardi's so he would give us a formal announcement to the room. "Mr. -------, we've prepared your regular table." All eyes were on us and I felt like prepubescent royalty. We ordered the cheapest thing on the menu - strawberries and cream - but felt like millionaires.
A few years later, my father boarded an Amtrak train with me to the City so I could try out for Teen Jeopardy! We wandered around and went into photo booths and basically exhausted ourselves until it was time for our return train. I didn't make the show. A few months after that, I returned to New York for college, and learned the intricacies of the City I'd always been a tourist in.
Jodie and I explored our new playground with our post-high school freedom. While visiting for my college graduation, my brother expressed surprise that I knew the subway system. "This is where I've been living," I explained. The City had embraced me, as it had years before, gripping the seat of that cab.I remember driving into the City in
Princess's car, club music blaring, my hand fiddling with the material of her skirt. I remember the lights catching my irises, my heart beating with tall buildings, electronic pulses of sound, and new love.The smell of the City always clings to my clothing and my luggage, an olfactory scrapbook. Her dirt gives me color, her rough edges make me brighter, and her harsh sounds give me calm. I know the City will always welcome me as her visiting cousin, her old friend. She knows I don't belong to her but she loves me anyway, grants me hospitality and shows me a good time. And then, when she sends me on my way home, she watches me turn back and wave.
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no subject
Date: 2004-06-19 04:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-06-19 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-06-19 07:00 am (UTC)You always, always have a home here.
Thank you.
Date: 2004-06-21 01:25 am (UTC)I think that the City would definitely welcome me back, but I don't know if she would let me call her home. I think that's reserved for a special subset like yourself.
no subject
Date: 2004-06-19 02:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-06-21 01:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-06-19 06:28 pm (UTC)"That smurfchick is a really good writer. 6-19 12:14 am. Will you tell her I said so? Thanks:)
My time in NYC was extremely short. Reading her memories makes me wish I had a few more of my own."
... :) she likes your writing. ;)
no subject
You will have to take her to NYC sometime. :)
no subject
Date: 2004-06-19 07:01 pm (UTC):)
no subject
Date: 2004-06-21 01:28 am (UTC)