Popcorn, beer, and fans in blue surrounded us. Summer sun was beating down; a cool wind comforted us; and the crowd roared when a homerun soared over the back wall.
His face glowed with hope and joy as we sat: My son and I perched in the Bronx.
He knew that I didn’t like staying for a full game, but he asked me, “Dad, can we stay till the end?”
Usually, I said no, giving a reason like we needed to get home to do something important.
But a realization slapped me, hard. And it was this. The only summer I have with my son as a five-year-old is ending.
“Make the most of it, fool,” I thought to myself.
Making as many happy memories as I could with him became my aim, doing the things he wanted, even if they went against what I preferred.
So we stayed.
The innings were exciting. But witnessing the wonder and excitement in his eyes brought me the greatest joy. My son smiled, cheered, clapped, and laughed. And I couldn’t help but join him.
And I found myself not wanting to leave the game even after the last out.
But we both left satisfied, hand-in-hand—father and son.
New York can be a hard place. People are rushing around you, treating you as if you weren’t human, only something in their way. The bustle can be overwhelming. You can get lost in the shuffle and feel like a number. But living here with a family has been very different, especially with a newborn.
Continue reading “How New Yorkers react to our five pound baby”
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and we were in Washington Square Park, the iconic park in downtown Manhattan. The large marshmallow clouds marched in rows over the skyline; there was a slight breeze that brought comfort from the warmth of the sun shining down on the sea of humanity. The fountain was spraying water in the air, while kids danced and frolicked in the water. The landmark arc was white and seemed to glow as it towered over everything and everyone. People were everywhere: around the fountain, on benches, milling around, walking through, watching entertainers, on the grass in bathing suits. Dancers were dancing, musicians were playing, and the audiences were paying. Every creed, color, nationality seemed present. It was a collage of park, people, art, music, city, and nature. It was truly humanity at its best on a beautiful Saturday afternoon.
Continue reading “The Saturday afternoon we lost our son”
The smells of New York City are usually the butt of a joke (which is often associated with the smell of a butt).
But in the spring, there is something sweet in the air.
Continue reading “In NYC, spring is in the air”
On our way home from school, a stream of neighborhood children cross at an intersection where a woman with a rich Latin-American accent greets every child by name as she helps them across the street every day. Dulce’s our crosswalk lady.
Continue reading “What the crosswalk lady said unsettled me”
My wife just gave birth to our second son at home (on purpose).
And five days later, our pediatrician pushed us into the ER because our baby had a low temperature.
We thought he was just jaundiced (something a lot of newborns get but can be easily treated with special lights). But we weren’t prepared for what happened next.
Continue reading “Did our five-day old baby really need three spinal taps?”
My wife was in our bathtub laboring. I was beside her doing my best to help. Our baby was crowning, and no one was there to help. We were two new parents having a baby in our condo, on our own.
Continue reading “A story: Our baby was born at home, and we were alone”
I used to think time was an abundant resource, almost limitless. Then I did this.
Continue reading “Want to make the most of your time? Do this.”
I was rushing to church with my son last Sunday, and we walked past a homeless man.
“Can you spare any change or a cup of coffee,” he says in a wispy voice as I glance at him and step one foot in front of the other. My son looks at his face.
Continue reading “On the streets of NYC: my son, a homeless-man and me”