City Kid

I am tucking Tova into bed.  She is adjusting her pillows and searching for her threadbare bunny.  I think to myself that even though she is beginning her fifth grade year, how prominent this beloved stuffed animal still is in her life. Face Bunny, in this way, is as comforting to me as he is for her.  No matter how many times she checks her outfit in the mirror or denies me a kiss goodbye at school, as long as Face Bunny still holds this sacred place in her arms each night, she is still my little girl.  We have just moved to Westport, Connecticut from New York City, and Tova has completed her first week in a new school.  I find a cozy spot next to her on the bed and ask her about how things are going.  “Really good,” she says with an enthusiastic smile.  I know she means it, but I sense that something is missing in her response.  A fraction of her expression betrays a hidden feeling. “Tell me more,” I inquire, and listen as she talks about how nice it is to be with her good friend Adelaide every day, how much Addy’s friends have welcomed her, and how much she is enjoying her new teacher.  I take a moment to thank the Gods that her friend Adelaide, daughter to my friend Stacy, lives in our new town and is in the same grade, at the same school.  “What else?” I probe, wondering if there is more to the story that she is willing to share.  “Well,” she says, and then pauses, “I still really miss New York City.”  She maintains her composure for a moment, and then a tear rolls down her cheek. I take her into my arms and hug her, every cell in my body feeling the longing with her.  I too had been struggling with our move, but I am even more concerned about how I displaced her from the only home she knew, from the friends that she loved, and the neighborhood she took such pride in being a part of.  A few months before when we told her that we were moving out of the city, she responded with a confident, “No.  I am a city girl and this is my home.”  I knew what she meant and I knew how important the city was to her.  It allowed her to be unique and independent, to have an identity during some unusually troubling times.  “Do you think you can come to love it here too?” I asked.  “I do,” she said, but released her hug in order to see my eyes.  She started to cry harder and then it came out.  “But you know what happened today at recess?”  There it was.  I was anticipating the horrible social injustice, the “new kid” incident that I dreaded was an inevitable part of moving.  Hasn’t she been through enough, I wondered to myself.  Her brother’s illness has incessantly interrupted her life, and now we put her through the stress of moving too? What kind of parenting is this? “My class went to the yard,” she began to explain between sobs, “and right there in the middle of the basketball court, there was a manhole cover.”  I am working hard to brace myself for the heart-breaking tale. “And I couldn’t stop staring at it.  I just spent the whole yard time looking at it because it reminded me so much of New York City.”  That was it.  The hurt came from the sentimental longing that overtook her when she saw the familiar city object.  I took a moment to imagine her standing there, spending an entire yard time staring at the rusted metal plate in the ground.  I spent a good part of that night watching her as she slept.

Comments

[Kristen]

Oh, Jen, how I can understand your feelings, and Tova's. When we uprooted Avery four years ago, I felt like a murderer, watching her in her friend Cici's arms, crying bitterly as if her heart would break. But of course it all comes out right and now she feels an incredible sense of ownership of the world, at being both a New Yorker (which she still tells people!) and a Londoner. How wonderful you are to give her space to talk. Miss you.

[Jennifer]

Thanks so much Kristen! Yet another strong bond...Hope all of you are well. Have a very happy new year!!