Christmas in Manhattan

            Four years ago, when my son was eleven months old, my parents proposed taking him into Manhattan to see the big tree at Rockefeller Center. Over the years, it has become a family tradition. That first December, getting ready to celebrate his first Christmas, my son did not understand the hustle and bustle, all the excitement that enveloped us as we walked through the big city. Eyes opened wide, his mind spun in overdrive trying to process the experience. He had just started to walk, but his steps were unsteady, not yet ready to compete with the racing crushing crowds that descend upon the city during the holidays.  Mom pushed him through the streets in his stroller. When we reached our destinations, I lifted him up, carrying him in my arms so that he could more easily see and explore the sights.  He stared at the tree, looked in awe at the statues in St. Patrick’s Cathedral and when stopped for lunch he drank his bottle, ate some pureed fruit and nibbled on some bread.  Exhausted, after a long exhilarating day, the subway rocked him to sleep in a matter of minutes and he looked like a little angel lying sweetly in his stroller.

            Every year the core of our adventure remains the same. We rise up out of the subway to encounter the tree looming largely over the ice skating rink and then we head over to St. Pat’s where my son spends a small fortune lighting candles to nearly every saint in the church. My mother, prepared for his endless requests, brings a wad of singles – two dollars per candle – so that he will not be disappointed. This year, he especially had to light a candle to every member of the Holy Family – Jesus, Mary and Joseph. He also wanted to light one for the Christmas angel who brings him a piece of chocolate every night during Advent – a small thank you for the sugary treat. My mother ensured that he lit a candle to St. Anthony, the patron saint of finding things, and she instructed me to offer up a prayer that he would help me find a job. After five years, the plea growing more desperate each time, the job still eludes me. As we were exiting the cathedral this time, my mom reached into her pocketbook for two final dollars, guiding my son over to St. Jude, the patron saint of lost causes. Yes, it seems I, or rather my inability to find employment has been categorized as a lost cause. My son lit the candle, and I wondered if would help – was St. Jude really listening.

            One year, when my son was old enough for us to ditch the stroller, but still light enough for me to carry a mile or more, my parents took us to the Central Park Zoo. We walked uptown from Rockefeller Center, my son clinging to my neck the entire way.  He loves animals, so seeing where we ended up zapped him with a jolt of energy. He dove out of my arms and eagerly bounced around the zoo to see all the animals.  We made a special stop at the penguin house to visit Tango, the baby penguin in one of his then favorite bedtime stories – And Tango Makes Three.

            This year, Legos are my son’s favorite toy. He has specifically asked Santa for Star Wars Legos and Superhero Legos. In prior years we always popped into the Lego Store at Rockefeller Center for something to do, a brief respite from the cold. Last weekend, however, it was a near religious experience for my son. The moment we stepped through the door, his eyes gleamed with pleasure, his face radiant with excitement. With awe he studied the Lego version of Atlas hold up the world, and immediately wanted to possess everything in the store. In earlier years, my parents bought him a duplo set to place under the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve – a gift from Santa to remind them all of their trip into the city. This year, they maintained the tradition, asking my son to pick out the Lego set he wanted most. He didn’t hesitate, heading straight to the Star Wars section. While my dad distracted him, my mom went to pay. This year, however, they veered from tradition. Knowing how much pleasure he gets out of putting the Lego sets together, how much he enjoys playing with them afterwards, they bought him a second set, one he could take home as a souvenir, a memento of the afternoon

            Even though my son gave up napping a year and a half ago, the rhythmic rocking of the subway, coupled with the afternoon’s excitement, lulled him to sleep as it did nearly every other year. Groggy, he cuddled up on my lap and snuggled his head against my shoulder. When we got to the car, Dad announced a detour. Instead of going home, he took us to Eddie’s Sweet Shoppe to cap off the day with ice cream. Hearing that magical word, all sleepiness drained away from my little man.  Legos and a chocolate sundae – what more could a little guy want?