Little moments

My parents had creatively figured out a way to send me to an elementary school in Manhattan that was not in my neighborhood. I did go to the local elementary school on the Lower East Side for a short time; the children there hated me on sight. First of all, I was neither Latino nor Black, and the year before I had been a rural kid living in upstate New York in a house with no indoor plumbing and parents who raised our own food and were quite the hippies. You can imagine my surprise to move to Manhattan and find myself living in an apartment with a flush toilet and enrolled in a school that wasn't ninety-five percent white. I found it easier to relate to the apartment that to the new kids. Seems like my life has provided me with many opportunities for learning new frames of reference. That is not a complaint.

My new elementary school was on 11th Street and 6th Avenue. My Dad's apartment was on St. Marks Place (8th Street between 1st and 2nd Avenue), It was about 10 blocks away, give or take. There were quite a few kids in my neighborhood who made the commute to this little school in Greenwich Village. When I got older I would take the public bus to school; but when I first started to go there, my Dad would take me on his bike.

I would sit on the cross bar, sideways, and hold the middle of the handle bars. I cannot describe how much I loved the ride to and from school on Dad's bike. It felt like flying: the wind in my hair and on my face. The absolute synchronicity of riding with my Dad in perfect harmony. Leaning when I needed to and sitting very still when I needed to and feeling as secure and sure as I ever had in my life, before and since. Every day after school, my Dad would be there waiting to ride me home.

There is a feeling of comfort for me when I think about that time in my childhood. The daily rhythm of my life; a routine that was fixed and constant. This was joy for me as a girl. As a parent, I also love those moments the most: the rhythm of my life with my children. Those times when, without a word spoken, our lives move along with our daily life waltz. The intimacy is beyond compare. When I pick up my youngest son from school and we can have lunch together and watch his favorite show, when he snuggles up to me in the position that we always lay down in, we do not need to say a word. He likes to rub my arm when we snuggle; I often place my arm in just the right position without even thinking about it. My oldest son had a blanket. I knew just when to hand that blankie to my boy, knew instinctively when it was necessary for him. I know how my kids like their sandwiches; I don't need to ask. These are parenting moments that really mean something. These little moments, the hum-drum, the banal, the minutiae, that make up the intimacy of the parent-child relationship. I wouldn't trade these moments for anything.

These are the moments we lose when we trade career for family. I know so many Dad's who leave in the morning before the kids get up and are home just in time to give them a kiss goodbye berfore bed. I know some mom's who have this lifestyle as well. Personally, I would rather be broke and share these moments with my children.