Holy crap Graffiti
Last weekend Marti, the kids and I made a quick trip to New York City. Wait, did I just write that? Why yes, now that we live in Washington, DC, NYC is just 4.5 hours’ drive away. Which is like the distance from Spokane to Seattle, although it means going through four or five states here (Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York).
I made my first ever foray into Brooklyn, which Marti described as “the suburbs.” I like to think of it as “the suburbs for crack addicts.” That might sound unfair, but DC suburbs are green and ‘Merican with wide roads and respectably mind-numbing strip malls that include things like Panera Bread and Starbucks (if I close my eyes really tight, click my heels three times and look at Panera Bread, I can pretend I’m in California). Brooklyn is just…wow. There is dirt, and more dirt, and lots of narrow streets and scary-looking elementary schools with 12-foot fences and the graffiti — holy crap the graffiti. I would have taken a picture but I was afraid I would photograph some gang sign I wasn’t supposed to and we’d all be in the dirt (above photo stolen borrowed from the NY Daily News and yes, looks just like that).
Two of the three new towers at Ground Zero, NYC
The weird thing was all the families. Tons and tons of families and as I goggled at them trudging through the sooty-looking streets looking cheerful Marti looked at me and said, “See? The suburbs!”
Riiiiight.
Ben checks out the rebuilding at Ground Zero
Anyway, we asked the kids where they wanted to go in New York and Ben said, “Ground Zero.” Yeah, just like that, you know, like, “Oh yeah, mom, can we go see Ground Zero?” And I had to take a moment to breathe.
I rarely pull the “I was there” card but I was pregnant with Ben on 9/11/2001 here in Washington, DC and ended up one of the last to leave a city that was going under lockdown. When we had an earthquake the other day, my first response was, “Oh crap, we’ve been hit.” I don’t talk about it much, because I don’t have that great of a story — I was in the city, I freaked with everyone else, I helped everyone get out of the office and nearly got trapped in the city, made it home, all was fine. It’s a pale comparison to the images I can still see if I close my eyes, images of people falling through the air and the smoke and the fire. I managed not to cry until I heard that all the wheelchair-bound people couldn’t get out of the towers. Then I broke down.
We watched the Pentagon smoke for days, or at least that’s what I remember. I was just grateful to be okay and for my unborn child to be okay. So for that same child to casually suggest — oh yeah, let’s go check out Ground Zero — it just kind of made me catch my breath for a moment. And then I said, “Sure, Ben. Let’s go see Ground Zero.”
Turns out the 9/11 Memorial just opened, so the place was pretty crowded, but it was well done. The place is a huge construction zone but you can still see damage on nearby buildings and I can imagine the cleanup was epic along with heartbreaking.
I was proud of Ben for wanting to go.
(Hard to believe I snapped that photo with my iPhone on HDR setting, isn't it? I did.)
Afterward we went to Central Park which was stunningly beautiful (while DC suburbs are prettier than NY ‘burbs, NY wins in the parks department — I did not see even one homeless guy peeing) and the kids got to play on Marti’s favorite playground from when he was Ben’s age and lived in NYC for a year with his mom and sisters. We even drove by his old place.
After a 3-hour marathon at FAO Schwartz, I was ready to crash, so we headed out of the city to a hotel room in much cheaper New Jersey. And that, my friends, was the end to a very long, very interesting day.
