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As I get ready to leave LA for my second year of college, I feel like it’s only fitting to talk about New York and the connection with my dad.
When I was 8 I remember my dad took us around NYU and immediately I fell in love. After my father passed away it became an obsession. I needed- nay- I HAD to go to NYU. I needed to be where my dad grew up, and lived, and loved. I heard a story about how my dad got into NYU but his father wouldn’t let him go unless he lived at home and commuted. My dad being as stubborn as he is ( know where I get it from) denied and instead went to CUNY Buffalo. He lost a big dream of his, one that my Pop-Pop regrets not letting him chase. So, I took it upon myself to go to NYU to fulfill my dreams, my dad’s dreams, and my Pop-Pop’s dreams. Alas, when common app opened up and it was time to apply, I realized that my GPA nor our bank account could secure this dream of mine. The dream of going to school in New York though was still very much alive. I managed to get into the New School in Manhattan and with the beyond incredible support and help from my mom ( and our accountant Cherie, who fricken rocks) she was able to send me to New York. For numerous reasons going to school in New York has been the most one of the most incredible experiences I could have ever asked for. Walking down St. Marks, the street my dad used to live on, and the street I go to for $6 ramen. Passing Waverly st., another one of his homes, as I go to get tests done on me by NYU psychology students for small pockets of cash, going to his favorite cheesecake shops located only blocks away from my dorm. Being able to visit his family only a trip away in Long Island whenever I want. Going out to lunches with my uncles, his brothers. Being welcomed in by one of his best friends families, babysitting their kids, and being invited to Jewish holidays. I was also lucky enough to have one of my best friends, my cousin Sophia, only blocks away from me. She went with me to visit my dad’s grave in Queens, somewhere I had only been once before. It was a long, confusing trip, and a short, simple visit. I know I never would’ve been able to do it without her and I’m so thankful she’s there with me. I’m seeing New York in a different way than my dad did ( I could never afford an apartment in Manhattan, I can’t get anywhere without using Maps, I can’t deal with people getting mad at me when they bump into ME) but being able to immerse myself in a place that he was born and raised and spoke so highly of, is simply put, the thing I’m most thankful and fortunate for. I’ve fallen in love with just walking around the city. I feel a sort of strange security being there. On nights when I’m really down I imagine what life would be like if he was with me, there, in the city. But my sadness is soon replaced by happiness, he is there with me, and he always will be. So thank you dad for introducing me to the most exciting, daunting, craziest places on earth. Thank you mom for understanding and helping me achieve this dream. And thank you New York, for everything
Photo sent in by David Yaffe with the caption "Not your typical beach photo. Frank and I went out to take pictures. We drove to the beach on Long Island and were exploring around by a traffic overpass which had graffiti on it. Voila. I think this was taken when we were about 22 years old."
