Category Archives: Contemplations on New York Life

Elementary school applications, tiger parenting, and the desire to “have a happy child”

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Years ago, when the “tiger mom” book was making lots of media headlines, I thought that I might be a Tiger Mom Lite. I’d push my child to be the best that they could be within the bounds of what they actually enjoyed. I’d demand obedience (to a limit) and self-discipline. I’d expect them to do house chores, homework, and extracurriculars. And hopefully all that would culminate in their developing into a good citizen of society and the world — growing into an adult who would be intelligent, curious, empathetic, disciplined, globally minded, and passionate.

Fast forward years later, after a year of futilely trying to conceive, IUI, IVF, and finally the birth of Kaia Pookie, and I think I’ve softened quite a bit. I’m no where as strict as I thought I would be as a parent. I’m a lot more gentle than I ever imagined. And all I can think about is how not to continue intergenerational, “inherited” trauma in her. In my mind, I just want her to be safe, healthy, and happy.

I think about this during the recent weeks’ worth of elementary school tours, open houses, and parent outreaches and conversations. And all these parents seem to say the same thing: we want our kids to be happy and thrive in their environments. But then the big question when choosing a school is: which environment is best for my child to optimize their happiness and learning?

I recently finished reading this culinary memoir called How to Share an Egg: A True Story of Hunger, Love, and Plenty by Bonny Reichert. Bonny’s father survived near-starvation during the Holocaust in Auschwitz-Birkenau, and this legacy of hunger impacts the family’s relationship to food. The book, though repetitive and slightly irrelevant tangents at times, shows how trauma can continue across generations even when the older generations who directly experienced trauma try so hard to shield it from their offspring. In Bonny’s case, her father steered as clear as possible from sharing vivid details of his struggle and survival during the Holocaust, insisting that she and her sisters not worry or think about it. He constantly says over and over to the girls that there’s no need to know about all that in the past. “Just be happy. I want you to be happy.” But the anxiety from not knowing the details but being aware of their father’s Holocaust experience constantly echoes in their lives and causes Bonny an internal instability that she cannot shake. We spend most of the book navigating this journey, which leads her… right back to Poland.

I suppose the reason I thought about this book during this elementary school application process is that it’s not really enough, at the end of the day, to focus on our child’s happiness, as made evident in Bonny’s case with her dad. What does “happiness” mean to kids at each stage of development, anyway? At times, it can seem like an empty, meaningless word. Something actually needs to drive them internally for them to move forward. And all we can do, as their parents, is to be the one to help them navigate through all their options and choose what we think is best for them as individuals.

That feels very difficult (and vexing) right now.

Cooking with chanterelles – an autumn luxury and privilege

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I love mushrooms. They are one of my favorite foods on earth. The more irregular and funny looking they are, the more likely I am enamored by them and just want to find ways to cook with them and get them in my belly. Over the years, I’ve had so many delicious varieties of mushrooms. In Asian cooking, shiitake and enoki mushrooms are extremely common. Since graduating from college, I’ve been buying king oyster and trumpet mushrooms more regularly. And while I am obsessed with morel mushrooms, they are almost impossible to find…and when you do, quite cost prohibitive.

One mushroom that had remained on the “out of reach” list for ages were chanterelles, a rare, delicate, and difficult to cultivate mushroom. They cannot be commercially cultivated and can only be grown wild, thriving on tree roots. Chanterelle mushrooms form symbiotic, mycorrhizal relationships with tree roots in a way that is so complex that humans still have not figured out how to reproduce this in a controlled farm environment. And thus, every chanterelle mushroom anyone buys has been foraged by hand in the wild and not farmed. They also have a very short season that is usually late summer to fall, and their yield heavily depends on rainfall, temperature, and soil quality being at optimal levels.

Given this, it’s been pretty usual that if I go to Whole Foods or a fancier grocery store (regular grocery stores will rarely have chanterelles!) around September to October each year that I will see chanterelles being sold for anywhere from $28-50 per pound. While I have loved them and have enjoyed them in a couple tasting menus we’d indulged in, I never had the pleasure of cooking with them myself until during the pandemic. In 2020, we spotted them at a Costco for about $12-13/pound, and I obviously pounced on it. And then once again during our Costco trip this past Sunday, I got two pounds of them for the same cost. Sure, they’re expensive and are priced like fancy meat even at this far-cheaper price, but to me, chanterelles are worth it as a rare autumn treat.

Today, I made my chanterelles two ways: I seared and tossed them into a cashew-cream based sauce with short pasta, along with cannellini beans and baby bella mushrooms for extra protein and mushroominess; and for something I hadn’t previously done but wanted to do, I seared them and tossed fresh green herbs into them, adding them atop crusty Breadivore bordelaise sourdough and a generous pat of salted French butter. It was simple, delicious goodness. But once I finished cooking my two pounds of chanterelles down and looked at my final dishes, I looked down and sadly noted how much they shrank down in volume, just like all my greens, into just a teeny tiny fraction of what I originally started with. This is often why when people ask me how I can possibly eat all of <name whatever squash, vegetable, bag of greens at Costco>, I tell them that it always cooks down to far, far less than what you’d think. So while it looks like we bought a lot, we”ll likely get through it in just two meals each!

Third time to Staten Island this year

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I shifted a bunch of meetings today so that I could go to my friend’s place in Staten Island and work remotely while also cooking for her. She’s now 2.5 months postpartum; it’s crazy how the time flies. Her baby has increased his weight by almost 50 percent and is very responsive now. My friend is pretty much healed from her birth and getting around a bit more. She’s now returned to cooking, something she enjoys, and is also proactively trying to get outside at least once a day for a walk and fresh air. It’s been good to see her healing and looking and sounding more like herself.

I will admit, though, that while I am happy to go all around New York City and explore different neighborhoods, it’s not necessarily the easiest or most convenient for me to get all the way out to her neighborhood in Staten Island. It is not subway accessible; I either need to take an express bus (which is an extra cost on top of an OMNY card) or the ferry; then, I need to either get picked up by her fiance or take an Uber/Lyft to and from her place. Staten Island is not public transportation friendly at all; it really requires you to own a car and drive everywhere, just like the suburbs. It is the least New York City-like of all five boroughs. While I enjoy the one-off rides on the ferry and seeing Manhattan drift away, plus views of the Statue of Liberty, I am not a fan of her being this far away and removed from everything she loves about New York. But I suck it up because it’s her choice to be there. This is my second time visiting her in Staten Island since she gave birth. I saw her once in the hospital after birth in Manhattan.

She was chatting with me about a bunch of her “good” or “close” friends while I was over today. Since she brought them up, I asked her if any of them (or any other friend, for that matter) had come to visit her since I was last over last month. The response was negative. I was her only friend who had come. The only other people who had been over were Joe’s family plus her own mom. I just found this really surprising. Usually, friends would love to come see their friend after giving birth and just to see the baby. I definitely don’t expect any of her friends to come cook and clean for her, but I’d at least think someone would have come to see her at least once. I am sure it has to do with distance given where she is located. People are lazy in general and don’t like to make huge efforts for others unless there is some incentive for them.

Though she has been my friend for almost thirty years, I don’t see her as just my friend; to me, she is my chosen family, my created and chosen “urban tribe” that I read about in my college sociology class. I treat her the way I would treat my own family members. And I know she sees me the same way. We are always bonded even without blood. And so I am happy to cook for her and stuff her face with browned butter pumpkin cookies and Chinese chicken wine soup. And unlike a lot of other friends I have, she is always, always outwardly and obviously grateful for even the littlest things I do for her. And that’s one of the many reasons I adore her.

Browned butter and cozy kitchen delights

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As I’ve gotten older, I can definitely feel my metabolism slowing down. I can’t eat as much food as I used to. I definitely cannot eat the same sweet things I once ate as a kid or even as a 20-something-year-old. Some sweets I choose to stay away from completely (hello, candy in general and sour belts, which I was obsessed with as a little kid), and other things I have in very small quantities. Once upon a time, I could probably just sit there and eat five medium sized freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in a single sitting. Now, I can eat… one. And then if I have made them myself, I need to really space them out. And as we all know, homemade desserts have a very short shelf life (no preservatives!), and they can get dry quickly given they are all natural. So, if you don’t finish them within a certain time, they are just nowhere as delicious and moist as day one or two. Given this, I bake desserts only when we have company or are bringing baked goods to someone else, with the exception of “healthy” baked treats for Kaia.

The problem with this is that baking is one of my biggest and first loves in life. I have so many fond, happy memories of baking in my aunt’s kitchen upstairs. Most of those bake sessions were from box mixes, but as a little kid, I didn’t understand, nor would I probably have cared. I was actually making something that my family and I could eat, and that seemed so special and amazing to me when I was four, five, and six years old. When you think about it, it’s still actually quite amazing: it’s amazing to be able to share food you have made with your own time, effort, and hands with the ones you love most. It’s special to nourish the ones who mean the most to you. Because what is more important than fueling our bodies with sustenance?

So last night, I browned butter for the first time in ages. In my early 20s, I used to do this a few times a year for special treats like browned butter chocolate chip cookies, financiers, among other rich delights. I browned an entire cup or 240 grams of butter, and the house smelled so sweet, caramelly, toasty, and utterly delightful. I used it for the browned butter pumpkin cookies I made my postpartum friend, which I will be bringing to her place tomorrow. She recently had a baby, and I wanted to bring her more food and cook for her. She texted me and said she was really enjoying the hawthorn tea blend I made for her, especially because it had cinnamon, and it felt very cozy for fall. So given this, I figured browned butter pumpkin cookies would go with her “autumn cozy” feelings.

I was packing up the cookies this evening and decided to try one fresh. And it was truly delicious: rich, pumpkin spicy flavor, with caramel notes from the browned butter. The sugar level was perfect and melded into the butter like a dream. It was soft and chewy, with this almost addictive texture that mirrors that of snickerdoodles. When I thought more about it, these really are the pumpkin and spice version of snickerdoodles! My snickerdoodle-obsessed friend would have loved these cookies. Chris even declared these cookies “Tim Tam level,” which coming from him is quite high praise. Scientifically Sweet recipes never fail to be a delicious success.

I drew the line at one cookie for today, though. Now that I am nearing 40, I think a lot more about how many sweets and rich foods I eat. That single cookie had about 11 grams of sugar. 😀 I loved it, but I do not need to eat too many of them in a single sitting.

Very “clean” baking mixes

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The neighbor I’ve been hanging out with while having play dates with our kids gave me a Simple Mills box mix for banana muffins or bread loaf. She said she has so many of this brand’s mixes that she’s gotten bored of the flavors, and she thought that maybe I could work my baking magic and jazz it up. The slogan is, “Only purposeful ingredients. Nothing artificial, ever.” The mix is gluten free and vegan (though it does call for three eggs and suggest using yogurt in place of water to increase moistness of the muffins). And when you look at the “simple ingredients” list, it just lists these: Almond Flour, Banana, Organic Coconut Sugar, Arrowroot, Organic Coconut Flour, Baking Soda, Organic Cinnamon, Sea Salt.

Based on the above ingredients list, there’s no weird artificial or “natural flavors.” No dyes or preservatives are listed. No weird names of things that the average person cannot pronounce are here. The average grocery store box mix has preservatives like propionate, potassium sorbate, sodium benzoate, and other emulsifiers. Simple Mills really is what it states: straightforward, simple ingredients. I wanted to believe this had to be good, so I decided to whip it out today and see how it was.

The instructions say to use three eggs, 1/2 cup water, and 1/3 cup oil. I used two eggs, replaced one egg with a “flax egg” (1 tablespoon ground flaxseed to 3 tablespoons water), replaced the water with yogurt as the suggestions stated to increase moistness, and used 1/3 cup coconut oil. The mixture seemed really thick, so I added some coconut and oat milk to thin it out a bit. I also wanted to add more spices because the only spice mentioned here was cinnamon, so I added some ground cardamom, ginger, allspice, nutmeg, and mace. I mixed it all up, added the batter into my mini muffin pan, and baked it. The bake time was also longer than I thought by about 50 percent, which was weird, but I’d rather have done muffins than liquidy ones.

Once the muffins were done and cooled, I tried one. It did not poof up the way wheat flour muffins do and was quite flat on top, but the flavor was pretty decent. The texture was soft and on pair with other almond-flour-based breads/muffins I’d had before. The spice flavor was very good. The one downside, though, was that there was absolutely zero taste of any banana. The spices, coconut milk, and oat milk had completely drowned out any banana fruit flavor.

I had one first and didn’t tell Chris what I thought. I did not want to influence what he tasted or thought. After he had one, he immediately said, “Not bad. Did you put something Indian in it?”

Touring schools while checking my Chinese proficiency

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Yesterday morning, Chris booked a tour of a private Chinese immersion school in our neighborhood. We actually visited this school about a year and a half ago when Kaia was getting ready for 3K, but because we found our current school in Chinatown, we decided to give this place a shot (and ended up really liking it). Fast forward, and believe it or not: we’re already looking into kindergarten and elementary schools for my sweet Kaia Pookie. Sometimes I just can’t believe how quickly time has flown. It was like just yesterday when I was still pregnant, nesting and getting everything for her arrival. And then she exploded into this world and made my heart swell more than I ever thought possible. She’s a tiny human with a strong personality making more and more sense of the world every day.

One part of the private tour we were on included observing a kindergarten class, so a class Kaia would hypothetically be in if we got in and chose to matriculate here. We entered and watched the teachers conduct the class. The kids, for the most part, were extremely well behaved, always raised their hands to speak, and their Chinese was quite good; I heard no one speak any English in this class. The teacher had images and Chinese words on the screen, and she was asking the kids to describe what they were seeing. As I looked at the projector and observed all the interactions, I was heartened and relieved by one thing: I could understand and read everything that was written and said in that classroom during that quick visit. So yay, I have at minimum kindergarten level mastery of Mandarin Chinese!

Although Kaia mostly responds back to me in English, occasionally she does surprise me by responding in Chinese. Sometimes, she shouts out the Chinese name of whatever object or thing it is that she sees. And maybe even once or twice, she’s corrected my Chinese. Yes, my almost-four-year-old wants to correct her mama’s Chinese! If she ends up going to this school, I may have to take a deep breath and just remind myself that if she continues to correct my Chinese, it’s actually a good thing, a sign that she’s getting more and more proficient, and way past whatever my level of proficiency is in the language.

The pre-judgments we make, and what happens when we are dead wrong about them

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My college friend who is in town this week is here with her boyfriend of 1.5 years. Her boyfriend is originally from India, did graduate work and work in New York for about nine years, and now lives in the Phoenix area. Given that he spent almost a decade living in New York City (different areas of Brooklyn), he knows it fairly well and told my friend he knew where to go and what the best places to eat were. My friend, who is also food obsessed, knows that I am food obsessive with both finding places to eat and cooking. So of course, she reached out to me for my recommendations for specific areas they’d spend time in. After I gave her a handful of recommendations for one or two neighborhoods, I sent her my entire NYC Google Map, which I am constantly updating (yes, really, pretty much every single day something is being added, edited, or removed at least once). This list, as of today, has 761 places across all five boroughs; yes, that’s right: all five boroughs. And when he saw her refer to this mysterious food map that I’d created, he got a bit jealous.

“What, are you really referring to your friend’s food map? her boyfriend said, rolling his eyes. “She lives in the Upper West Side. What would she know about Brooklyn food? Don’t you remember I lived here for nine years! I know the good spots!”

My friend was quick to put him in his place (I love this about this friend; she never fails to call out bullshit when she hears it and delights in telling people when they are wrong). “Umm, you clearly don’t know Yvonne at all,” she retorted. “She goes everywhere and knows all the places all over New York City. This list has over 700 spots across all the boroughs! Have you been to all these neighborhoods?! Plus, you moved away four years ago; a lot has changed since then!”

His friends they were staying with made similar comments, trying to dismiss anything that someone like me living on the Upper West Side could suggest. My friend was annoyed because she kept saying she wanted to eat Asian food, but all those friends did was take them to Italian-adjacent and American foods places. “I can eat this food in Phoenix!” she grumbled. “I want ASIAN FOOD!” Somehow, her preferences went mostly unheard.

While her boyfriend’s eyes did widen after he heard the 700+ spot comment, he still was not convinced. He wanted to box Chris and me into the “Upper West Side” box, as in, if we live here, we must not know much about any neighborhood outside of where we live (or work)… because why on earth would anyone want to leave their neighborhood and see other areas? And this is where he was glaringly, glaringly dead wrong about us.

On Wednesday when they mapped our address to come over for dinner, he immediately saw the Google map label that said our building was a “luxury building.” He looked at my friend and said, “Who the hell are these people?” And when he got to our lobby, checked in with the doorman, and went up the elevator, he made more comments like this, in shock and confusion of who the hell we were and what the hell we did for a living that would allow us to live in a “luxury building” like the one they’d be hanging out in for the next nearly five hours.

So over the course of their time at our place, somehow all his assumptions were proven wrong — about Chris, about me, about what it means for people like us to live on the Upper West Side of New York and what that may say about who we are as individuals and what we like, dislike, and believe in. He ate my food. He drank Chris’s whisky and wine. He laughed at our commentary and banter and engaged with us. He had a good time and felt like himself. And on their hour-long commute back to his friend’s place in Brooklyn with my friend, he said he liked us a lot and perhaps the greatest praise of all you can give to your girlfriend’s friends: “They’re my kind of people.”

It’s always fun when assumptions are proven wrong, isn’t it?

I love people who read

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Today’s plans changed pretty drastically once I found out the AFSP OOTD walk was postponed, so I ended up having a lot more free time than I’d planned for. I did a bit of cooking during the day, and later in the afternoon, I messaged our neighbor friend and toddler who we spent time out with last Sunday to see if they wanted to hang out. We went from the play room to their apartment and then back downstairs to the lounge room over the course of two hours. For the most part, the kids were able to play together independently without involving us, and us two adults were able to chat about everything from travel to language learning/acquisition to one of my favorite topics: books! One thing (of many) I miss about being in a school environment is talking about what people around me are reading. I don’t have a lot of friends who read a lot — maybe just two or three who actively read and can always say they are reading something. But I love when I learn that people read, and I love it when people ask me what I am reading (which then means I can ask them what they are reading and potentially get book recommendations that I otherwise would not have known about or even considered). What we choose to read says a lot about us, and at its most surface level, it shows that we are curious and want to learn more about things that are not just ourselves.

I told her I was currently reading the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu’s The Book of Joy. But this past year, I read a lot of historical fiction about the Vietnam (American) War, the Cultural Revolution in China, and the Partition of British India into Pakistan and India. In the book about the partitioning of British India into Pakistan and India, one of the book’s main characters makes commentary about how ridiculous, stupid, and inward looking American news media is. During that period in the mid to late 1940s, she was studying and then working in the U.S. as an immigrant from India, and it was virtually impossible for her to learn anything that was happening in her home country despite the massive changes, cultural/religious violence, and India becoming independent. What she learned that was actually happening in the country was only through letters that came (much delayed) from her family. Sadly, this is not quite far from the truth today: U.S. media is always so focused on… what’s happening in the U.S., ally countries of the U.S. It’s always about what happens here, and if you want to learn about anything happening in other countries, it’s 100 percent on you. We talked about the media, and that transitioned into how she’s been working on her French, and one way she gets better in her French language acquisition is by reading… graphic novels! I was so intrigued when I heard this; I know no one who reads graphic novels. The last graphic novel I read was when I was in high school, and it was Persepolis, a book often compared to Art Spiegelman’s Maus. While Maus tells the story of World War II through the lens of the author’s father, who was a Polish Jew and a Holocaust survivor, Persepolis tells the story of the Iranian Revolution through the lens of the author herself and her own experiences. When I told her this, she told me that Persepolis (in French, its original published language) was next on her list! She reminded me what I learned during my four years of French language and culture in high school: graphic novels aren’t a big thing (they are barely known at all!) in the U.S,, but in France, they are huge. There are entire bookstores devoted to graphic novels in France, and they are truly considered (and some are even priced as) works of art! She said it was easier for her to follow a graphic novel and improve her French than an actual novel (very difficult for obvious reasons), and not only was she able to enjoy the art and the story, it helped her improve her language skills. This almost made me want to read Persepolis again. I even have a hard copy of this book at my parents’ place.

After our time ended together and I had to get Kaia back home for dinner, she thanked me for our time together and said that while she’s happy that Kaia and Hugo love each other so much and get along well, she’s even happier that she met me and that we’ve gotten to know each other well over the last few months. I would agree; she has definitely surprised and intrigued me in ways that get my mind thinking more. That is the true beauty of friendship and getting to know others who grew up completely differently than you.

The Nor’easter that postponed this year’s AFSP Out of the Darkness Manhattan walk

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On our Wednesday evening Walk committee call, everyone was wondering about whether we should be postponing the Manhattan walk this Sunday given the weather report citing a Nor’easter on its way to us. For those who are not located in the northeast of the U.S., a “nor’easter” is a large-scale extratropical cyclone in the western North Atlantic Ocean. The name comes from the direction of the winds that blow from the northeast. Usually, storms like this go for over a hundred miles and can result in flight delays/cancellations, as well as large wind and flooding advisories. Every time you hear about this in the news, it’s probably a good idea to stay indoors and not be walking along a waterfront in lower Manhattan. On that evening, we said we would still have the event, rain or shine… until the city came to us and strongly advised us to postpone the walk until November 9 due to wind and flooding advisories. Since the Walk would be on the waterfront at Pier 16/17 at the Seaport, it was just too risky to put all of our volunteers and walkers in a potentially messy weather situation. It was likely a good call; I wasn’t sure how many people would come with the nor’easter in the weather report. Plus, this is actually Columbus Day/Indigenous People’s Day weekend, so many people who would have attended the walk were already planning to be out of town. We’ll be in town November 9, so when our co-chair called to let me know, I told him we’d still be at the postponed event next month.

All I could think when I saw the weather reports about the impending nor’easter was: how ridiculous is it that I’ve been participating in this same walk for the last 12 years, and this is the first year that weather is a problem. There were only two years when I was not physically there: the first was 2020 when the walk was completely virtual due to COVID-19 precautions. The second time was in 2022 when Chris and I had a communication snafu, and he booked an autumn Delaware road trip the same weekend as the Manhattan walk. So the one year I finally join the Walk committee and am officially volunteering at the event, it gets postponed due to weather. Oh well – c’est la vie.

Either way, we still had our usual Saturday outing. We spent the grey, drizzly day in Park Slope indulging in handmade campanelle pasta, a number of Chinese-French fusion pastries at our beloved Breadivore, and then admiring all the Halloween decorations already up at many of the neighborhood brownstones. Once the weather cleared up a bit later in the afternoon, Kaia spent time running and climbing at the huge Washington Park Playground in the ‘hood while I explored the tents at the fiber (yarn!) festival surrounding it. I’m still happy the walk is postponed as opposed to cancelled. I’m proud of the two TV segments I got to be on to represent AFSP and share why I walk. So regardless, this year’s participation is definitely a win for me personally — and the walk hasn’t even happened yet!

When OMNY card fails, mass pandemonium erupts, and two teenage boys save the day

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I went to pick up Kaia from school this late afternoon, and as usual, I walked her one block over from her school to the Grand Street B/D subway station so we could head home. Before I even got into the station, I knew something seemed off: there were huge crowds of people trying to get in. When we descended the stairs, something seemed very, very wrong: all of these people were trying to scan in with their OMNY cards to get through the turnstiles, and it just wasn’t working. All I saw were error messages and red flashes, indicating the turnstiles weren’t letting people in. I observed several people ahead of me, who tapped their OMNY cards so many times and failed that they gave up and just tapped their phones to pay because that looked like the only thing that worked for people. People were complaining loudly that OMNY cards weren’t being recognized; the MTA guy behind the counter was doing zilch to help (and sadly, even if he wanted to, he’d likely be powerless to help). I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. Everyone ahead of me only scanned in and got through because they tapped to pay. And I did NOT want to tap to pay. Chris already mentioned that OMNY had an outage earlier this week, which resulted in him having to renew our weekly pass one day earlier. We hate losing out on money we spent. When I finally reached the front of the turnstile, my card did not work. It wasn’t even registering that something was being scanned. I tapped it at least 10 times, and still nothing.

Kaia had no idea what was going on, so as per usual, she ducked under the turnstile ahead of me and started heading towards the stairs to the uptown track. I called out to her to wait for me. She kept looking back to see what was going on and even asked a few times, “What happened?” I continued calling out to her after tapping another 10 times (no exaggeration) to please wait for me. But then when I poked my head over to see her, I noticed there were two teenage boys — they could not have been any older than 15 — who were hovering over her and telling her to wait for her mommy. One of them tapped her shoulder and said, “You can’t go! You have to wait for mommy to come.” I was immediately so touched; they were watching over Kaia because they saw that I didn’t get through with my card, and they were concerned for her safety. I yelled out to thank them, but then also told Kaia to come back with me so I could figure out the card and not have to inconvenience the boys from getting to where they needed to go. She initially pouted but came, and then the boys went down the stairs to wait for the train. Maybe on the 21st or 22nd tap, my OMNY card finally (and luckily) registered, and I was able to get through. When we got down to the stairs to wait for the B/D going uptown, I saw the two boys again and thanked them profusely for looking out for Kaia while I was occupied. They waved me off and commented on how cute Kaia was.

As a person living in New York City for over 17 years, I have always believed that the vast majority of people here mean well and look out for others. I’ve had countless times when people have been incredibly kind to Kaia and me, and it’s always given me a little more faith and hope in humankind. Usually, though, when these kind moments have happened, it’s always been other adults, both men and women. But in this instance, it was two boys who were either pre-pubescent or just going through puberty who really shocked me with their maturity and concern. I don’t know who their parents are or what communities they have grown up in, but I just felt this deep gratitude to whoever raised them to be kind, caring, concerned citizens of the world. I wish I could have shared this story with their parents or caregivers, but I hope whoever they are that someone is telling them that they are doing a truly amazing job; their boys are truly good humans, and I have a feeling they will grow up to be truly good, well meaning men.