My complaints notwithstanding, we are still largely fixtures in a relatively transient city. There are many reasons, but foremost among them is our commitment to our church. Family-wise, with one set of in-laws to the east in Long Island and another to the south in Staten Island, Flatiron is a pretty optimal location to make grandchildren equally accessible to both sets of grandparents. There’s a nice little family friendly park just steps away, three great grocery store options all within a couple blocks (Eataly, Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s), and the real zinger- the best budget mexican food in the tri-state area (Calexico) just got a two-year lease to set up their food cart at the end of the block.
But then the little prince came into the world. And of course, everything changes. For the first time in our thirteen plus years in the city, we began to ponder living elsewhere. I’m not sure exactly when it started- probably the day we went in for Samuel’s 4 day old check-up and the doctor started calling him “the little Olympian”. That sentence fragment got me thinking, and given my hopes and dreams of raising a world-class soccer player (I know it’s a crazy fantasy, yes), I soon realized that I lived a long way from the nearest soccer field. But regardless of whether or not S shows any promise as an athlete, I just can’t imagine him growing up surrounded by concrete. I was raised in what I’m guessing is a typical suburb where me and all the neighborhood kids played soccer in the early AM, football in the afternoon, and basketball in the evening. Since I lived off the 17th hole of a very nice country club, we had “access” to a wonderful field and the greens keeper would routinely have to chase us off his fairways. But that was all part of the fun- and since he had 35 other holes to take care of, we quickly learned how to break down our make-shift field, run like bank robbers through the woods in different directions, and just wait him out before resuming our activities.
As a regular helper in our church’s Kids program, I have the privilege of spending a lot of time with some terrific kids between the ages of 7 and 12. I can confidently say that one of the defining traits of our community is the presence of excellent parents, and so I often find myself asking them about raising kids in NYC. Parenting in any environment is a sacrifice, but I do believe it is even more so in the urban jungle. What I hear a lot about is how the transaction costs associated with sporting activities (or any activity, for that matter) can be quite high. So if you want to get your kid involved in soccer- then guess what- the field is not a stone’s throw from chemistry lab- it’s actually a 30-45 minute bus ride from the classroom to Randall’s Island. Time is already the most scarce and precious of resources, and this is particularly true for that marginal hour or two. If this is a route we want to go- then a whole bunch of other things we do with our lives probably become compromised- starting with that church which is the main reason we’re here in NYC to begin with.
The lack of a team sports-friendly environment is in and of itself enough to make me head for the ‘burbs. But what’s really nutty about raising kids in Manhattan is the craziness around getting your kid into the right schools. I recall about 10 years ago a work colleague of mine telling me how stressed out he was about his kid getting into the right nursery because the wrong nursery would spoil his chances of getting into the right elementary school, which would mess up his chances of getting into the right middle school/high school, which would mess up his chances of getting into the right university and then he won’t get the right job and marry the right person and the kid’s life would be ruined because he wasn’t at the right nursery. As absurd as this sounds to the mind as I read it, it is much harder to escape this than I thought. In some sense, his mindset is nothing more than the evolution of the same core principle that made my parents and in-laws cross an ocean and enter a completely foreign country for the sake of their children. Whatever it is, they passed it onto us so that it’s now hardwired into our CPU.
We have some time before we have to make any serious decisions, but as of now, all options are on the table. If I had to decide now, I would probably opt for outside the city. The little prince should be walking soon, and we’ll see how he takes to all the sports gear that loved ones got him for his first Christmas. I’ve been throwing him a little mini-football the last couple days and he doesn’t seem to realize something is being thrown to him until after it bops him in the head and lands on the floor. We’ll also learn a lot later this month at his first birthday- there’s a Korean tradition where at a child’s one-year, the parents will place several objects in front of him and the one he chooses represents his future destiny. There’s a pencil (a scholar), string (a long life), rice (he’ll never starve), and of course, money (self-explanatory). I’m placing a fifth item- a soccer ball, and if he chooses that- then we’re one step closer to house-hunting! ;)
S doing the the traditional Korean bow on New Year's to grandparents and receiving money.
