It was the day after Thanksgiving, so-called Black Friday, when human nature’s darkest tendencies are on display, and it was exactly a month before Little G’s third birthday.
Big Sis and the kids were in the city, staying at the Marriott Marquis. I had the swell idea to put Little G on the train to see his cousins.
It’s hard to get Little G out of the house these days–everything that’s not pre-school, the grocery store or the Dump Truck Playground is “scary.” I’d packed his knapsack–PB&J, granola bar, water, wipes, his miniature red VW Beetle–but couldn’t get him off the couch.
Finally, I called on my ace in the hole.
“You don’t have to take a nap if you go,” I told him.
Every man has a price. That was Little G’s.
The Missus drove us the 9/10ths of a mile to the Hummerville train station and wished us well as we ambled up the steps for the 11:53 train. The weather was perfect for late November–sunny, 50, hardly a breeze.
We saw a neighbor on the platform–actually a neighbor’s son, who’s about 26, who’d recently moved out of his folks’ home on our block to a house down the block from the train. He was heading into the city for that most fun of mid-20s pastimes, the pub crawl–starting at a watering hole called Lansdowne.
The train pulled up and we got on. The last time Little G had been on the train, he was 20 months old and too young to truly appreciate what was going on–the fact that we were flying down tracks at 80 miles an hour, that we were passing other trains, that there was sometimes cool scenery outside. I recall the whole ride was an exercise in survival–hoping to keep him interested/occupied until Hawthorne, needing the help of kindly passengers to do so.
This time was different. He stared at the window as I showed off my knowledge of what the next stop would be, and what to look for there. He loved watching the northbound trains fly by. He dug the gaggle of cement mixers just south of Mount Vernon, on the Bronx border. He liked it when the conductor stamped my monthly and cracked a joke.
Heck, the kid even dug the long tunnel as we approached Grand Central.
We got in the stroller at Grand Central and headed up the ramp. Big Sis and her foursome were skating in Rockefeller Center, so we headed there and watched them for a bit. That part of the excursion was uneventful, except for when Little G stood on the front of his stroller and put his hands on the handlebars, his weight tipping the stroller backward and pitching him onto the smooth 30 Rock concrete. He was OK.
Little G was eager to check out the massive Toys R Us in Times Square, so we left a quick message for Big Sis and made our way over there. What’s incredible about that Toys R Us isn’t so much that it’s got a giant Ferris Wheel in it–the cars range from boats to Little People buses to M&Ms–but that the Wheel fits into what’s actually not that huge a store.
We steered the stroller up to the car section–no small task on Black Friday in Times Square–and Little G immediately jumped on a display featuring Dodge Charger radio-control cars.
“I want this!” he yelled.
I’m usually pretty good about not spoiling the kid, but figured it was OK to get him something to remember his big trip to the city by. Plus, the worker scanned the price and it was only $12.99, so I figured I was getting off relatively easy.
We poked around the store some more, checking out the kid-size Hummers you can climb on (and, yes, the bright pink Barbie jeep) and the ginourmous dinosaur. We then made our way across the street to the Marriott Marquis to wait for Big Sis and the kids. Little G enjoyed those insane glass elevators climbing some 450 feet in the air, before we took some rest on the benches in the 8th floor check-in/check-out area. I decided not to tell Little G about catching a nap on one of these benches during a most unproductive work day following a work Christmas party a decade before.
He pestered me to open his new remote-control Dodge Charger, but I told him that would have to wait until the train ride home.
Big Sis and the kids came along, we shifted to the bar overlooking Times Square, and Little G and his young cousins wrote in pen on the bar’s pleather banquette as their parents enjoyed a bottle of Brooklyn Lager. Little G started pushing me to open up the Dodge Charger again. It’d been a long napless day, so we bid farewell and made our way toward Grand Central for the 3:53.
We made a brief stop in Bryant Park, where Little G took delight in racing down the ramp leading up to the Christmas booths and skating rink, and finally got to the train.
Alas, the Southeast-bound was fairly full, and we didn’t have a window, so we made do with some books and a brownie. I put our coats and the Dodge Charger on the fairly full rack opposite us, and found a spot for the stroller on the floor near the engineer’s booth.
As the train started through the tunnel, I told Little G to remind me not to forget the stroller.
We made our way past Valhalla and I told Little G our stop was next.
“Not to forget the stroller!” he yelled.
I didn’t forget the stroller.
The Missus and Little Miss C picked us up and asked us about our adventures. Little G talked about seeing his cousins, sitting in the kiddie Hummer, seeing the “Enterpire State Building” and, of course, the remote control Dodge Charger Daddy bought him.
My heart sank into my stomach. I’d left the fucking thing on the train.
“Little G…,” I began. “When Daddy goes back to the city on Monday, he’ll get you…”
I looked at his face, scrunched up, holding back tears. I’d made the short list for Worst Dad Ever.
Plan B, and quick. Try & Buy in Pleasantville was still open. We got home, The Missus and Little Miss C got out, and the boy and I were at the toy store in five minutes, buying a cool red and yellow remote control racer a few minutes after that. Crisis averted.
I went to the Metro-North website early Saturday for lost and found info. I filled out the Web form for lost items. The site said the thing was staffed 24/7, so I called and got perhaps the most disinterested man I’ve ever encountered. “Benjamin” mumbled something. I told him I had no idea what he’d just said. He paused several seconds to show me he was not pleased to have to repeat it, then told me to call Monday.
Think Little G’s Dodge Charger will turn up? If it does, we’ll do something cool and charity-minded with it.
[image snuffledopple.com]