It’s difficult to walk around this city and not feel the presence of my family within it. I look at the Empire State building from my window at work and try to imagine what it must have looked like to my mom when she walked through Manhattan in the 60’s and 70’s. Then I think of my Grandmother doing the same decades before. The scape of the skyline has changed yet I like to think that the emotions evoked by the feel of the city are somewhat comparable, that perhaps my grandmother took some of the same joy from living here that I do.
Growing up in the south I became accustomed to a sense of displacement throughout my life. The feeling that I had not come from where I was and that my roots were difficult to define was all that I knew.
My move to New York changed the face of that reality. Almost every day I see something that makes me think of what my family must have experienced as this city developed over nearly a century. Their workplaces and homes are still here, some of them anyway. The shops and diners they frequented, buses and train lines they traveled, synagogues and cemeteries they knew are all right here. The buildings of my own past, tied so closely into the lives of these people I’ve loved and have known are now not quite so foreign. It makes me feel closer to these people who were born and raised, married and had children and even completed their lives right here within this city. They are my family and finally I’ve begun to feel as though I know them.
I bike the streets of New York and I feel connected. Connected to a piece of my existence that I never knew was even missing until I found it here.
It’s good to be home.
When I was young in Ravenswood, from my bedroom window I could see the Empire State Building at one of the corners. What I saw made the Empire State Building look twice as wide as it is. Only when I was old enough to pay attention did I realize that what I saw was truly an optical illusion.
New Yorkers, I suppose, are a breed unto themselves. I am glad you found your roots where I left mine.
Love you–Mom
Finally an update to the blog! Funny how you mentioned family and New York. When I go into city ( not too often) there are several vivid memories that I have.The smell of turkey from many Thanksgivings spent at Grandma’s apartment at big six. The feeling of being so entranced with all the people walking up and down the streets at such a fast pace when I was a kid.The more heartfelt memory of the big six apartment that was so full of life during those Thanksgivings is now like a faint star in the sky on a clear night.
I can’t tell you how much I love reading these replies. The memories of Thanksgiving at big six (an apartment co-op in Queens) are ones that defined New York in my childhood. Many of those memories became reasoning points much later in my life for my eventual move to nyc. At some point I’m going to map out a bike ride to Ravenswood. I would really like to see that place.
Thanksgiving is a warm memory. When I was young, my father took my brother and me to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. We returned home about one o’clock to the aromas of Thanksgiving Dinner. Then, later in the afternoon we would go to a movie–no cost–my father had worked the projection room at the theatre. My favorite time was digging into the leftovers in the frig after we returned from the movie. My turkey, cranberry, and stringbean on a dinner roll sandwich originated then–of course, it was followed by pumpkin pie.