New City

As I drove through New City, my childhood home from age 6-18 (and again for a year when I was 23), I was surprised at the emotions that arose from within. I felt excited, sad, longing, confusion and comfort. I was surprised at how I felt. Yet, it’s not like I wouldn’t feel those emotions. Growing up in New City was a good place to be a kid. It was safe, so different from the Brooklyn neighborhood our family left behind. We could actually play on the streets without fearing being run over or kidnapped by some deranged stranger. We could spend our days in the woods making forts and playing games. New City was a comfortable place with many things to do. There was the grand new library, two movie theatres, good eateries (including Carvel ice cream!) and the mini-bus that would take us to the Nanuet Mall. All of these were within walking distance from our house. We were a middle-upper class community, which meant my friends and I could afford the luxury to do these things and more. We were fortunate but didn’t know it at that young age.

But New City wasn’t a perfect place.  My Jewish family experienced some anti-Semitism. Other than the larger Jewish and Catholic communities there wasn’t much religious, cultural or racial diversity and generally speaking, most of the community thought along the same lines. And again, generally speaking, folks mostly thought and lived inside the box.

I never really lived inside the box. I would fight with my mother when she would try to get me to wear the clothing that “they are all wearing.” (I would ask her to let me speak to “they” so I could ask them about their fashion decisions). I didn’t want to dress like others and I didn’t really fit in with the mainstream crowd once I hit junior high school.

From 12 years old I found myself with the outsiders crowd. And when I hit high school I detested sitting in the mainstream class being lectured too from the rows of seats we were assigned too. I did enjoy the smaller special ed classes I went to for my learning disability. They were individualized and engaging. I often skipped the mainstream classes to hang out with my friends.

It was during high school that I became aware of apartheid and started boycotting companies that supported the white, South African government. I was also introduced to my first Dead show and started going to shows around the East Coast. All while my peers (sans a small handful) were driving their expensive cars, dressing in the latest styles and being normal suburban kids. That was great for them. That was hell for me and so I continued on the path of discovery what worked for me and where I fit in.  It’s not surprising I left New City never to really return (except for one year while in transition).

But I still have good memories and am thankful for the many opportunities my childhood brought me. I am thankful for safe, tree lined streets that provided our family a good place to grow up and a good place to launch from.

When I return to New York, I like to visit my old town. There are some friends I always visit and some old haunts I like to see. This trip found me in those places along with a stop by my childhood home and my elementary school so the girls could see where I grew up.

My childhood home.

Our back yard.

I loved my elementary school. 

I always return to New City pizza for a slice!

With our friend Ryan.

The girls had their first Italian Ice. The best!
(When I was pregnant with Amara, Don and I came here for lunch.)

The Falls.