Owen’s fabulous first friday

I.
We are all busy and in being busy we push things along the schedule we create and are often bound by the grid of the calendar. Rushing to get out of the house to get to school on time, to get to the next meeting or set one up, to start/finish work, to pick up from school, to get dinner ready, to get to bed, to start again. Everyday we try to align to one-another in a continuous flow of timings and sync points, in a pastiche of moments fixed in time; sometimes we are successful, a lot of the time not, and sometimes in being successful, we miss a lot.

So, as Owen and I cruise along route 78 to New York for our Fabulous First Friday, and as we near the city, after driving for an hour, I realize he has not once wanted to play on the iPad (which I brought in case), but instead has DJ’d the entire way from his iPod, playing me every song he has that he loves.

These are not songs I have much desire to hear, but he clearly not only revels in the thumping bass, but also in having me hear them with him. He taps and drums and sings and sits in meditation and I try to relax into it and not direct him to song selection or have him play music I think he should hear.

The choices were to drive through the Holland Tunnel and to our destination, or take the PATH into the city and subway. He elects to park in Hoboken and take the subway.

We arrive outside Washington Square around lunch-time.  We’re in one of the food capitals of the world, so naturally we go to McDonalds.  Sometimes in the face of overwhelming choice, you fall back on what you know.  We’re both happy with it.

We’re sitting along the wall with NYU students coming and going. As he wolfs down his bacon cheeseburger, I notice him noticing every single person going by. I say, “you like to watch the people, don’t you?” He, completely innocently, unaware and with an air of genuine curiosity, replies, “yes, especially the black girls. Their hair is all exactly the same!.” I text Heather while trying to not roll on the floor.

I need coffee, so we find a coffee shop nearby. As I stand in line, he snuggles up against me. He wants a decalf mocacchino – oh my. Though he winds up not really liking it, I enjoy my espresso; he spies several velvet couches and tries out walking on across them to the delight/chagrin of folks using them.

II.

I’ve told Owen we’re going to see Blue Man group, in the original theater. Unless you’ve seen it, there is no real way to understand what it is – Blue Man group is really one of those things you have to “just see” to “just get.” All he knows is that it’s a show with music, drumming and guys painted blue. I know how much he is going to love it, but he has no idea.  Check out this link to YouTube – and you’ll still have no idea.

We take our seats – we have amazing seats – waiting for it to start. Owen is getting nervous that it’s going to be loud; the music playing is a bit percussive. I tell him to ask the usher. He calls over a large black man with locs who greets him “hey little man.” Owen asks the following: Excuse me, can you tell me if this show will be loud? I am from Haiti and when I was in an orphanage as a baby there were a lot of gun shots outside and now that I am older I don’t like loud noises.

The usher handles so smoothly I almost wonder if he’s heard this before. He even says hey in Creole and explains he has lots of Haitian friends. He gives Owen a big smile and says, do you like loud music with a beat? That’s the kind of loud this will be. Owen visibly relaxes.

For the next 2 hours of thumping, antics, paper, marshmallows and general wild fun in an artistic sense of things, Owen is mesmerized. Sometimes laughing out loud, to the delight of everyone around, sometimes completely still and focused.

As we pass by the gift stand and after we’ve snapped pictures with the Blue Men and Owen has managed to stick his thumb onto one of their heads (to the Blue Man’s surprise and, I think, delight…it’s hard to tell with those guys), and we’re out on the street heading to dinner, I can tell Owen really wanted something to remember it by. I ask him – he says it’s nothing. He insists it’s nothing. I gently prod him – on any other day I may have gotten frustrated – and after a moment it comes out – he really wanted the drum sticks. So we go back and get them.

He asks me to hold them. With Owen, in this situation, that means he values them so much, he doesn’t want anything to happen to them – let alone that he might drop or forget them somewhere. I am not sure if my heart is breaking or filling – or maybe it’s both at the same time.

III.
We’re getting hungry so we decide to head to dinner early. But we have plenty of time. As we’re walking up Lafayette Owen stops and looks down into the grate. There beneath us are subway tracks. He wants to watch a subway go right under us. As we stand there, the rest of the city disappears. The crazy duo across the street with the drummer and bearded fellow with bunny ears on dancing, the French lady taking a bicycle rental, the students in the Starbucks, the police cars whizzing by; the only thing that exists is the grate and waiting for a subway to go by.

20 minutes pass. Owen decides to give up. Just then a train not only goes by, it stops under us. A family walks by with a stroller, Owen jumps up in excitement and calls out to them – they think he’s dropped something down there – but he calls look look there’s a train! They smile. But more, they notice the train too. And I don’t think they would have otherwise. I would not have otherwise.

It’s then I realize that time has shifted for me. I am on Owen time – and that’s a very different schedule. It’s not easy to be on Owen time, but there is something – that when I actually allow myself to do it – when it’s just he and I – that is almost magical about it.

***

We head down to the subway and go to Time Square. We emerge in a different city – or it feels like different anyway. It’s overwhelming, so of course I up the ante and we go to Toys R Us. I can’t help it – he spots an AirHogs copter-thing – I get it. He is thrilled beyond belief. This is a boy who never asks for anything. Not for Christmas, not for birthday; nothing. I get it.

IV.

Heather found this Brazilian Steakhouse – Plataforma. I’ve never been to one – not a real one anyway – and Owen doesn’t know it at all. They explain how it works and then the food begins to arrive.

Owen has a certain zest for life – and particularly for good food that is not just difficult to describe – it’s incredibly infectious. So much so that people at other tables pick up on it. The roving wait staff really pick up on it. They are ecstatic when he flips his coaster over to green for more. In fact, they come over and give him more when it’s still red.

The steak is incredible. I text Heather. I don’t want her to be envious, but I just have to share it with her. Owen is going crazy for the meat. I am having the best Caipirinha I’ve had. Ever. Make that I’m having two. They make them tableside. They make Owen a non-alcoholic version. He commands me to close my eyes and he moves them around to confuse me. I– by smell – guess wrong as to which is mine – thankfully I can taste the difference. He is laughing. We toast every 2-4 minutes all night during the dinner.

The servers come and go, and ask if we’d like them to take our picture. The general manager comes over and chats with us – for quite a while. We get a recommendation for dessert from the two ladies who are from Brazil – they ate these as kids. Owen wants to bring part of his home – I suspect to show his brother.

I am wishing I could be like this with him everyday.

Special does not begin to describe the dinner. No – not the dinner – although that is special and I am looking for excuses for our whole family to go. “Special”…does not begin to describe the our dinner together, it’s something else entirely.

V.

We leave the city, fulfilled. We’re tired.

We go to our hotel – since that has become a mandatory part of the Fabulous First Friday – but not in the City – in NJ. And that’s ok. I am happily exhausted. Owen wants to swim. Any other day and we would not do it. But we on Owen time right now. We swim. More accurately, he swims, I soak in the hot tub. We wake and have a great buffet breakfast.

It’s not sad to come home like it was with Kyle. It somehow seems right. Complete, or just enough. I am not sure what. But I am sure that for some people, like Owen, it’s not about the whole experience; it’s about all the moments that happen. And you can only really have those moments, when you are in someone else’s rhythm.