Meet the Parents

New York and I haven’t been together very long. We’re still in the infatuation stage where everything is fresh and exciting. We have that kind starry eyed adoration where you overlook the flaws of smelly garbage and crowded subways and only see the sparkle of the Crysler Building – the storybook beauty of Bethesda Fountain. I’m gitty – I’m smitten – I’m head over heels. I’m falling in love.

So you can understand my heightened anxiety when my father came to visit. I wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted New York to be on its best behavior so my dad would love this city as much as I did. I carefully planned a series of events that would show off New York in the best light. I arranged trips to the Union Square farmers market, Broadway and the Public, the canine gathering on the great lawn and the jewel that is the 92nd Street Y. I had dressed my boyfriend New York in his best duds. I made him shave, shower and cover up his tattoos. I was ready to show him off. New York was ready to impress.

Unfortunately, after a few short hours, the New York blemishes started to show. It continued to be crowded on the subway (even on a Sunday – unheard of) and confusing to a fault (was that 45th and 6th or 46th & 5th?) and loud, abrasive and generally…overwhelming. It continued to be New York.

When a man peed in front of my dad and me on E 16th, one of the most charming areas of the city, I had to restrain myself from putting my hands on my hips, pulling my shoulders back and saying: “Come ON New York! Pull it together!” And then, under my breath, in a fierce whisper: “You’re embarrassing me.”

I’ve always been like this with New York, especially with people experiencing the Big Apple for the first time. I long for them to love it. I know it shouldn’t matter to me so much, but somehow it does. I remember coming to New York with a group of ladies a few years ago, many of whom hadn’t been here, and I was struck with anxiety right before the wheels of our plane touched down. I felt responsible for their enjoyment. It made no sense, but somehow I felt like a strange matchmaker. I wanted to create a love connection.

The truth is, there’s nothing I can do to make people fall in love with a city. I just need allow the events to unfold naturally. Whether it’s my dad or a group of ladies, they will have their own experience and reaction to New York, regardless of what I do or say or plan. They don’t have to love New York simply because I do. It’s just like the attraction between lovers. Sometimes it’s there and sometimes it’s not – an outsider is powerless in whether the affair heats up or turns cold. It’s a matter of chemistry.

So New York showed its grit during my dad’s visit this weekend. It showed the dirt under its fingernails, the grease in its hair, its tendency to speak a little too loud and chew with its mouth open. Although I felt New York was on display, New York absorbed my father with the “take it or leave it” attitude it’s had since the days of the Dutch. The good news is that despite its flawed appearance, my Dad, like so many others, was drawn in.

Together, the three of us had a great time. It wasn’t perfect…and that was perfect.