Today was dedicated to social studies -- we needed to get out of our apartment and see our city. What with the subways being down, and the park closure, and everything else related to the hurricane and the blizzard we were one solitary step away from becoming mole people.
The integral ingredient to soul-satisfying wandering-about is to start with a purpose; the Doughnut Plant has month-specific flavors; there is a narrow window for pumpkin. We went to the Chelsea location, and after our sticky consumption followed 23rd street over to the most beautiful Home Depot on the planet. Once upon a time (turn of the last century?) it was Stern's -- a high end department store that had pianists on every floor. It was called "the giant wedding cake on 23rd" -- which provides a nice picture of its detailing and whiteness. We rifled through some metal drawers and got some screws that we've needed for over a year (I've found that some cupboards don't actually need functioning handles, but the teenage interloper shamed me out of my slovenliness), and The Boy picked out some small metal pinning things that he's sure he'll need for an experiment. The entire purchase was under $2.
We walked past the Marble Collegiate Church and saw the prayers for peace ribbons. I was hoping that they represented soldiers that might still be coming home, but that's not the case.
From cool vintage vacuum cleaners to a not-cool man ranting and screaming in our faces about how we are idiots if we don't know that the Chicago mafia is the devil, this city provides. The kids were so happy to be out and about they asked to go through every door ("Um, no... inappropriate." I said about one store. "Every store has inappropriate stuff, we just don't pay attention," was the response by one of my wise sages... still, the veto remained). The point was valid though, I have to rely heavily on them having/developing strong filters.
We grabbed the M2 -- a limited bus up Madison to 57th where we hopped off and walked over to 5th. Here we provided the other book end to our gender studies unit: the reason why Judd the Red Chicken got his 79-cent package of small pieces of metal was to use as leverage as we girls walked through all the shimmery goodness of Tiffany's. Every time he opened his mouth to complain he had to snap it shut again when he remembered that I had bought his silence with man-type hardware.
"That's where she stands in the movie." I said.
"Who?"
"Holly Golightly."
"We don't know what you're talking about."
Could it be possible?
Having marked ourselves as tourists by taking the Tiffany & Co. picture we went ahead and joined the flock of Euros watching the b-boys/flippers. I actually said, "This is kind of gym class. Except we're not doing it." Whatever the freak that means. We clapped along and watched the human body do extraordinary things.
And then we had a sub-lesson:
"So why was it funny when he pretended to run away with the handbags?" The Girl
"And why did he keep making jokes about 'black guys' that weren't appropriate?" The Boy
Derrrrrr. I tried to explain that they were making reference to bad jokes, but because of the way that they said them they were actually trying to make fun of the bad jokes. They were making fun of people who have certain perceptions... It was the subtlety that was tripping me up... I mean we're dealing with layers, and irony, and bigotry. It's one thing to hear something horrible on the sidewalk and chat about why we don't say certain things, but it's trickier to explain the intricacies of street performers using racially-loaded satire in their schtick.
"But they can only say those things because they are 'black guys' -- it wouldn't have been okay otherwise, right?" Kid
Well... some might say that it's still not okay, but I don't know...Who am I to throw the street performers under the bus, and hold up while I just start spinning in circles and blowing raspberries...
Being back on the streets with the masses was good for our spirits, but it paled in comparison with being back in the park.
Guess what we did when we got home? They wrote a rough-draft of a story, and then we popped in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Mostly I did it because we had already walked down the sticky slope of racial stereotypes so I thought Mickey Rooney's bizarre performance would solidify the material. Kidding. We watched it because we were so full of NYC-love I thought it would be fun for them to see their iconic home in an iconic way. They were happy to see the library and the park and even Tiffany's, but I was not prepared for the discussions we had. We talked about a need to belong, and a need to feel useful. We talked about making the right choice even when it hurts and makes you cry. We talked about love. My babies are growing up.
It was dark outside by the time the movie finished. I was feeling worn out from the adventuring and critical thinking. The Girl asked if she could look up some of the jewelry on the Tiffany website because she "might want to save up for something." She typed away while I got dinner started.
"Um, Mom, come here."
Wiping my hands on a towel, I walked over to the computer where she was pointing to a unicorn broach that we saw today.
"Look at the price."
"Yeah... It's as much as Nana and Grandpa's house." I answered.
"I don't want to save up for anything from there." She said with her chin lifted.
"Well. It would take a while." I kind of laughed.
"No. I just don't think that's right." And she lifted her chin a bit higher and clicked away the webpage with a self-righteous flourish.
