native son

downtown number six train

I had the rare opportunity on Friday to spend much of the day with Auden.  It was the last day of the public schools' mid-winter break, and he spent most of the week under the weather with fever.  By Thursday, after mild complaints of ear pain, we had decided enough was enough and made a doctor's appointment for Friday morning.  As always, the phone call was the best remedy and by Thursday night he seemed mostly well.  I don't have class or clinical on Friday, so it had previously been decided we would spend the day together.

As the Mitchells are often (ok, always) 10 - 12 (ok, 20) minutes behind schedule, we headed out the door at 9:15 for a 9:30 appointment on 34th Street.  There was a steady rain all morning and while it was not blowing sideways, it was substantial.  As you may know or can imagine, getting a cab on First Avenue on a rainy Friday morning is as likely as getting a parking spot on Friday night.  We drifted up to 12th Street trying to find a corner not already occupied by someone looking longingly, or desperately, into the uptown-bound traffic.  After five minutes of waiting in vain, Auden patiently standing on the corner under his umbrella, he said,

"Mama, we should just take the bus."
"My Metrocard is dead", I replied.
"Do we have enough quarters?", he asked.

I dug through the wadded tissues, keys, and hair clips in my coat pockets and managed to scrounge nine quarters--exact change for bus fare.  Auden is just past the cusp where he should be paying train and bus fare, but we continue to feign ignorance and confidently send him under the turnstile or down the bus aisle ahead of us.  (You pay for kids based on height, and I just don't feel like I should be penalized that my kid is the tallest in his class.)

The bus stop was across the street and as we looked up we both recognized that a M15 was about to pull up to the corner.  (Making sure we had the right of way) I grabbed his hand and we bounded back across 12th Street, dodging the puddles and the oncoming pedestrians, arriving at the stop just as the bus pulled up.  An older woman with her pocketbook in the crook of her arm had been waiting there and as the bus door opened she suddenly seem to panic and said, "Oh, I dropped my change, can you please pick it up dear?"  I bent to get her dime, but Auden beat me to hit handing it back to the woman: "Here you go!".

He waited for her to get on and then climbed the bus stairs, said "hello" to the driver and found two seats near the front of the bus.  We chatted on the way to 34th Street, mainly about what a kook his brother is, that he is excited to get back to school next week, and happy he's feeling better.  At 23rd Street, we moved to the back of the bus to allow the driver to load a wheelchair passenger on.  We got off  the bus at 34th Street, I opened his umbrella and handed it to him and we jogged across First Avenue as the crossing signal was flashing.

Once we got into the doctor's office he answered all her questions and agreed with the assessment that he's probably healing on his own, but that we should get a prescription for medicine just in case he got worse over the weekend.  We left the building, back into the rain, and walked the four avenue blocks to the #6 train at 33rd and Park.  We had decided to go to the movies but had to trek to the Upper East Side to make a showtime that would jive with our schedule for the rest of the day.  When the train pulled up to the platform he waited while the exiting riders passed and then found a seat near a window, which he and Colton both prefer so they can watch the stations whiz by.  We rode to 86th Street, back into the rain, and found our way to the theater.

After the film and a potty stop we were back in the rain and on the #6 train downtown.  On this trip the trains were busier and we had to stand in a pretty dense crowd.  We were in the first car, which tends to lurch on take off, but Auden managed to find sure footing and handled it without a problem.

Anyone who spends time with Auden regularly recognizes that he has undergone an enormous amount of emotional growth and maturity since his sixth birthday.  He is coming into his own, making decisions about what is important to him, and making choices about his behavior.  This is not unusual development for a boy his age, and it certainly makes life a lot easier as a parent (if only for a moment before the rush of hormones begins).  It's rare that I get time with Auden alone.  Typically when we're together we have Colton in tow, and he still requires a lot of attention and corralling.  But as we rode the train to Astor Place I was able to look at Auden, without distraction, and recognize that he is also coming into his own as a New Yorker.  His experience as a city kid is very distinct from the suburban upbringing I had and while his dad is a city kid through and though, New York is a very different town than it was "back then".  And, as most of you know, there is a special brand of finesse, muscle, and agility that negotiating the city requires.  (That said, while I can tote a loaded stroller up three flights of subway stairs, I could never successfully navigate a Target with two kids on a Saturday afternoon.  We all have our own challenges.)

It took me a long time to truly feel comfortable in New York and to know how to work with the city rather than against it.  When I first arrived, there were many days I felt as if the city had "won".  I still occasionally have those days but, mostly, the city works for me.  For Auden, this dance is innate as it is all he knows.  And while I don't love that trash on the sidewalk outside his house is a norm, I totally dig that he's unfazed by the woman in a burka on the bus.

When we arrived at Astor Place he took my hand and we walked up the stairs to the street and I appreciated that he had managed himself under an umbrella all day.  Never complaining and never whacking himself, me, or other passersby.

We walked toward home and as we crossed east on 10th Street between Second and Third Avenues, he suddenly pointed at the ground three feet in front of me and said, "Mama!  Watch out for the poop!".  Charming, I know, but that's the city equivalent of throwing your arm across your kid's chest when you have to stop too quickly while driving.  Only he did it for me.