School is back in session
and my year long fight to rescue my son from a charter school that was
unfortunately unable, and worse yet, unwilling to teach my
non-cognitively-impaired but profoundly dyslexic child in a way that he could
succeed academically, has finally paid off! I need my son to not just
succeed, but succeed in a way that would bolster, not strip, his fragile,
pre-adolescent self-esteem and ensure that his full on, in-living-color sense
of humor and vibrant curiosity could also flourish unencumbered by thoughts of
“impending doom and imminent failure” (his phrase, not mine). Jordan is officially a Winston
Preparatory School student!
This is an amazing place
where class sizes are small and individualized education is common practice. Jordan is free to express himself and
explore and stretch the bounds of his curiosity without reproach and ask
questions without the fear of embarrassment. Go Jordan! When
choosing this school I did realize that the distance between my kids’ schools
would be great and that I would be solely responsible for ensuring that they
arrive at their respective schools on time and in one piece; it all sounded so
doable in theory. What I didn’t
realize was that the wildcard would be the NYC transit system upon which I
rely. Not to mention the throng of
people who also rely on the rails and could care less about two 4’7” kids
trying to get to school.
Typical morning this week
included racing out of my house at 7:15am with Jordan and Julia in tow for the two
and a half block walk to the subway.
Julia chatted the entire way and Jordan grumbled about a tag in his
shirt that was bothersome… I tuned them out. We get there and Julia has to swipe her metro card no less
than seven (yes seven) times before she gains entry. Jordan grumbled about being late because of Julia’s metro
card troubles… I tapped my foot and continued to tune them out. We sprint down the stairs just in time
to watch the doors on the #6 train slide closed with us on the wrong side. Julia argued with Jordan about whose
fault it was that we missed the train… and you guessed it, I completely tuned
them out. We wait another three minutes
for the next train and cram ourselves in beside the woman who thought it was a
fabulous idea to transport her Schnauzer, named Wilson (we know this because
Julia is magnetically drawn to any four legged furry creature), and her 6 foot
tall Monstera plant during rush hour.
Wilson, who is obviously accustomed to travelling by train, was
completely content to lick the lotion from my kneecaps while being pet by my
aspiring veterinarian, Julia. Woosah! I get off the train on the UES and walk
Julia a block to school, get jostled by random scholars and head back to the #6 train to continue on my
journey to my next destination, in Chelsea.
Train ride number two isn’t
bad; just crowded, as is the norm.
Jordan spent the entire ride complaining about the weight of his book
bag and his inability to sit (why did he even think this was an option). The ride to Chelsea and subsequent
sprint across town isn’t really bad either because the weather is still mild
(I’m not looking forward to doing this during the winter). Unfortunately, by this time I’m a
little over the whole morning commute and wondering if it’s too early for a
glass of good port. We arrive at
school and I kiss my kid goodbye, much to his horror, and back to the subway for the last leg of my commute. Oh Joy! This is where my morning gets interesting. I had a Carrie Bradshaw moment walking
down the subway steps, got my heel caught and stumbled the entire flight of stairs
hanging onto the back of a very kind gentleman who had no idea what hit him and
why a woman had suddenly decided on a piggyback ride… and he was the identified
piggy. Can you say horrified? That episode ended with me profusely
apologizing (wearing only one shoe) and causing my savior to miss his
train. True to New Yorker form, he
was gracious but not a happy camper.
Meanwhile, I’m back at the top of the stairs (still wearing only one
shoe) trying to wrench the tip of my heel out of a crack without damaging the
leather, which was no simple feat!
That crisis resolved, I walked down the stairs, on my own accord this
time, and boarded train #3 to work only to realize when I arrived (at 08:30am
mind you) that I’d been giving a peep show to the fine citizenry of
Manhattan. My dress was almost
fully unzipped! I knew I felt a
breeze…
I was raised by a single mother who
made a way for me. She used to
scrub floors as a domestic worker, put a cleaning rag in her pocketbook and
ride the subways in Brooklyn so I would have food on the table. But she taught me as I walked her to
the subway that life is about not where you start, but where you’re going. That’s family values.
~Al Sharpton
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