Pulling kids out of school to travel is frowned upon, but in my opinion, New York City gets an exception.
Taking my teenaged daughters to NYC, the city I immersed myself in at their age, has made me feel more whole.
There’s something transformative about bringing your kids to the places that meant much to you when you were young – even if they don’t get it, or love it like you did. They can see the you that you were, beyond the stories they’ve heard far too many times.
Together you spy and collect the pieces of your soul, like picking up pennies off the sidewalk.
On a recent trip, my daughter suddenly stopped me on 28th and Broadway. I’d just exchanged a knowing look and a laugh with a passing stranger about a rude construction person.
“Holy Sh*t!,” she blinked. “I totally get you now. No really… It all makes sense. I used to think you were just weird but now I get it. These are your people here.”
She nodded like a wise anthropologist. Of course she’s right.
24 years on the west coast, but New Yorkers are still my people. It’s the little subtle things. The inside jokes with strangers you pass on the street. I don’t do that in California.
You can do a lot in a couple of days in New York City. Coffee and lunch with friends and family. The prerequisite trip to Times Square. Ice cream and coffee in Bryant Park. Grand Central Station and The Village, plus a stroll by NYU with a wistful “Maybe someday I’ll go here…”
What we hadn’t planned to see, was the Feast of San Gennaro on Mulberry St.
We were walking towards Little Italy and just sort of fell into it, a sticky-sweet pastry-padded landing for some epic food gawking.
Where else can you take an impromptu photo with a Cannoli?
Or see Tony Danza singing and serving sausages (note: He was kind of a jerk to us, and my teenager had no idea who Tony Danza was, but still…)
The sausages and the seafood, the sweets and the desserts stretched on and on for blocks and blocks. Restaurants set up camp under tents on the sidewalk and street vendors hawked cheap jewelry, tees and hand rolled cigars.
It would be impossible to try it all. We feasted with our eyes and our cameras. We inhaled the scents of hot soul food and strolled to the sweet sounds of elderly old world accordian players.
Being New York, there was also an ample dose of the weird.
We walked for a bit behind a red suited apocalyptic Italian Stallion type, wielding a mirrored cross, mirrored armbands and a matching red suitcase as he preached his own brand of wacky gospel, which was met with classic New York City eye rolling and indifference.
“Wow. It’s really, really different here,” my Cali grown teenager observed.
And then she tried her first slice of real, authentic New York city pizza.
There’s much to remember from our short but sweet trip to the city, but the Feast of San Gennaro might be the most colorful bit.
So much yum! Looks like you had a wonderful time!