By Kyle Roberts
“Fifty-ninth street.”
I said the words over and over from our subway seat that morning. Judith, the girls, my dad (their Pops) and I found ourselves jam-packed headed from Grand Central Station to Central Park with visions of ice skating on Christmas Day, just a few blocks from the Balto statue and close to the Gapstow Bridge. I’m not much of a skater, but I certainly wanted to have the memory.
We had a connection to make on 59th street to our next train. And so I said the words again so my dad could hear: “Fifty-ninth street.”
Or so I thought.
As Judith, the girls and I all exited, I started looking for the signs to our next stop. Judith whirled around and said, “I don’t think Pops got off the subway.”
I laughed. “Of course he did. I kept saying 59th Street.”
A scan of the stop led me to my horror: 71-year-old Pops was still on the train; his first time in New York, no less. I felt the rise of both anger and fear, normally reserved for a child wandering off in a crowd.
I said some words under my breath (I’ll let you guess which ones) as I frantically tried to call his cell phone.
Straight to voicemail.
_____________
Our family has new traditions for birthdays and Christmas: rather than parties and gifts, we have shifted to trips. As our house began to clutter over the years with two wonderful daughters, Judith and I (wisely) made the call to start encouraging our girls to travel instead of waiting on the latest toy. To our joy, they both have become fantastic travelers, learning airport and plane etiquette that rival any frequent flyer.
Recently, we started including my dad and their only surviving biological grandparent on either side (and we are incredibly grateful for the many people who over the years have filled those remaining spots for them).
But in a world where our futures are not remotely guaranteed past today, spending time with my dad has become paramount for us. We eat together frequently, do church together– you name it. And as the last grand to Alice and Penny, we air on the side of inclusive when we can.
So I told him a few months ago that we were going to surprise the girls with a trip to New York. And we wanted to bring him with us.
This was my fourth (Judith’s fifth) time coming to New York. I have fallen in love with it over the years. My first time was on our 10-year anniversary in 2015 (before we had our Penny), the second time was with my former boss and his wife, and the third with the kids.
Other than losing my wallet (and having most of it returned the same day) in May of 2022, our trips to New York have been nothing but fond memories.
But my dad didn’t have the same take on New York as me, and I can empathize with why. When you live in North Louisiana for nearly your entire life, New York can seem scary and as foreign as a trip to Mars. After thanking us for including him, he shared his trepidation with us.
“I’m just worried,” he said, more than once. All I could do was remind him to stay with us, and that he’d be okay.
He just forgot that on 59th Street.
___________
“Dad? Can you hear me? Where are you?”
I’ve calmed down in the eternity of 30 seconds. He picked up once he had reception at the following stop. But the call keeps cutting.
I hang up and switch to text. “When you get this, just get off at your next stop, and tell me where it is.”
Seconds pass.
Thumbs up emoji– followed shortly by “86th Street.”
___________
We arrive late on Saturday, Dec. 23, and head straight to our hotel for a rooftop dinner in view of the Empire State Building. From there we had five wonderful days of museums, site-seeing, endless walking, good food and shopping. We spent hours at the Museum of Modern Art, the Metropolitan Museum, the American Museum of Natural History and the New York Public Library.
My older daughter is obsessed with Van Gogh, so I was delighted for her to see “Starry Night” at MOMA and one of Van Gogh’s self-portraits at The Met. My younger daughter loved seeing the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. We all collectively awed ourselves at a Cirque show, at Madison Square Garden of all places, a pantheon of sports venues.
We ate Indian, German, Italian. We had breakfast at Penelope’s one morning and then at Alice’s that night. We went to Christmas Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
We saw our dear friends Binni and Katie along with their new baby, Sophia.
And all the while, I kept checking in with Pops. “How are you feeling?”
“Man, this is AWESOME,” he’d say repeatedly in his Pops’ tone, rich in southern drawl. New York had been on his bucket list for a while, and our overall visit did not disappoint.
________
We’re back on the subway, headed the three stops to collect our lost Pops. Sure enough, he’s right under a sign that says 86th Street, leaned against a wall waiting for us.
As we exit the subway, we’re all laughing at this point.
“Dad, how many times can I say 59th Street?”
“I didn’t hear you,” he said in retort. Not a good enough excuse for me.
“I don’t care! You watch where we are at all times and stay with us. And if we get separated, find a nice person wearing an MTA vest and wait there for us.”
“Yes, Dad,” Pops replied, sarcastically. We make our way back to the right train, and we get to Central Park.
By this point, and for the rest of the trip, we all were practically yelling our stops to each other so it doesn’t happen again.
It’s a memory that I and the girls will have for the rest of our lives.
It was still, indeed, a very Merry NYC Christmas.
