My kids were born in New York City, but don’t remember much about living there. Our family moved a decade ago, in the spring of 2016, from Manhattan’s Upper East Side to Houston when my daughter was a toddler and my son was starting pre-K. It feels like forever ago now.
The city held my first memories of motherhood and so much more. My time as a college student, aspiring model and writer, and held my Italian heritage from over 100 years ago. It has been very tough to adjust to being so far away from my roots while raising my kids.
As the 10-year mark approached, I was anxious to return. I had limited funds available for a trip like this, so I called my mom. I talked with her on the phone about this deep longing I carried, and she offered me a gift that would help me to afford the trip. With her generosity, some flight credits, and some savings, I felt grateful I could finally pull this trip off. I was going back home.
New York felt like home
When we stood in the cab line outside of LaGuardia Airport, I immediately felt at peace. I still knew the city streets and subway routes by heart. I told the cab driver the location of our hotel, 23rd between 6th and 7th (avenue), with ease — as a true New Yorker would. My soul felt at home.
After dropping our bags at our hotel, our first stop was Madison Square Park, where I would often stroll with my son when he was a toddler. We would get Shake Shack, eat fries, and lie on a blanket in the grass while I admired the Flatiron building. So, of course, we had to get Shake Shack and stare at the buildings, just like before. Standing there with the Empire State Building in view, too, it felt full circle to be in the place that had always been there in my mind while raising my kids in Texas.
“I want to live here so bad,” my daughter said when we started walking uptown. Me too, I told her, although I knew the cost of living was enormous and unattainable. At least we had the next few days to immerse ourselves in the city I (and now my kids) love so much.
We mixed touristy and sentimental stops
Before the trip, I asked the kids what they wanted to see most. Of course, they both answered Times Square. My son wanted a steak and to visit Louis Vuitton on Fifth Avenue; my daughter wanted to visit a viral bakery and see “Hamilton.” Both of them wanted to shop.
When we made it to Times Square, the lights were less annoying to see than when I was a resident. We did laps and took too many selfies, but it felt different to see this space through my children’s eyes. The blazing lights and crowds suddenly represented opportunity, possibility, and dreams. I wanted my kids to soak it up.
Atop The Summit, an observatory that’s situated 93-stories high, it was incredible to see my kids’ smiling faces against the skyline. I pointed north. We lived over there in the Upper East Side. Your great-grandfather lived there too when he was a kid, I told them. Across the East River is Queens, where your grandma lived, I told them, it’s where your grandparents met and fell in love. A part of your family history is right here, so close, I explained to them.
After that, we had ice cream from a street vendor, just like we had years ago when they tasted their very first ice cream from a Mister Softee truck.
The stories flowed out of me
The next day, we visited the building we lived in before moving to Texas on 1st Avenue between 80th and 81st streets. When we looked up at our previous home from the sidewalk, I ached to be a young city mom again. I wanted to rewind time so that I could be dashing with my kids to parks and museums, popping into cafes, and playspaces.
My daughter’s eyes rose as she counted 26 flights up to our previous home. Standing there, I told them stories about their young lives as city kids, buckling them in the stroller and gliding us past Lexington, Park Avenue, and Madison, and on to 5th Avenue and then wheeling into Central Park to lay a blanket and watch them play near our favorite trees, like the park was their own backyard. This neighborhood had given my kids the best start, and I’m grateful for the memories we have of our time there.
As we left the 10 block radius that had held the first years of their lives, I hoped they would remember the view, the sidewalk under their feet, the sound of the construction and cabs, the cafés, brownstones, the trees that lined the streets, and my voice telling them how wonderful it was to be back to the place where they were born.
We’ll remember this trip
During our time in the city, I tried not to think about moving away, and the difficult years we’ve overcome as a family since then. I only focused on the three of us standing together in the city where their lives took root.
We walked miles and miles, and I hoped silently to myself that the sights, sounds, smells, food, architecture, shops, and beauty of the city was leaving a strong impression on my kids.
There’s always a place for you here, I told them when it was time to leave. I wanted them to know the world is big and that Texas isn’t all there is. They were born in a place where anything was possible, although I know it’s up to them to decide how they want to spend their future and create their memories. No matter where they end up, New York will always be a part of them.
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