NYC opens heart of a new, young visitor
Anthony explored Chinatown in Manhattan on his first visit to the city from his native Georgia in 2011 with his grandmother Linda Cucurullo. Credit: Handout
In the summer of 2011, I took my 12-year-old grandson, a native of Georgia, to New York City for the first time.
Taking the Long Island Rail Road from Merrick, we pulled into Penn Station and joined the throngs getting off the train and heading for the stairs. I felt him move a little closer to me.
As we emerged onto the street, what a treat I got as I watched him taking it all in: the amazing expanse of skyscrapers, massive traffic and honking horns, people in all kinds of dress, some rather spectacular.
There was a man standing on top of a box, ranting at the crowds, and no one seemed to be paying attention. In the middle of all the chaos, there were horses mounted by larger-than-life police officers. My grandson tried his best to remain nonchalant, as tweens do, but his face kept blowing his cover.
We got on a crowded city bus and traveled downtown to Chinatown. The sights that I was so used to sprung up to me anew as I saw things through Anthony's eyes.
Never had he seen such crowds, but he tried to look as if he had seen this many times before. We took pictures in front of the shops; we walked through the old stores that sold ancient-looking statues of meditative Buddhas, golden serpents and fire-breathing dragons. We stopped in the markets that sold octopus, squid and dried-up- looking herbs. I saw him roll his eyes and wrinkle his nose. This was no McDonald's.
We walked through Little Italy, eating pizza. We stopped at the shops and bought T-shirts that shouted our culture with funny sayings. I bought one for his father that said "I survived an Italian mother in-law." Anthony got a real kick out of that one. I was touched that he made sure he bought just the right thing for his parents and younger brother. He was able to put his own wants aside to make sure he arrived home with gifts.
While we were walking uptown under some scaffolding, a slightly deranged man with long white, wild hair and a long beard was riding his bike, yelling at the top of his lungs something no one understood. Anthony stepped aside just in time to avoid being struck. He looked at me and said, "We should have taken a picture of him. Mom would never believe this one without a picture." Another sight he had not seen in the mountains of his Georgia home.
As our day ended, we headed back to Penn Station. Just as we arrived, we saw a middle-aged man sitting on the concrete, leaning against the subway fence with a big cardboard sign that read, "Help me, someone stole my suitcase and my train tickets, I live upstate and I have no money."
Unfortunately, this was a sight I had grown accustomed to, and was about to move along. But Anthony stopped short. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, without reservation. He took out $60 -- three $20 bills; money he had saved for this trip. His face was as open as his wallet -- generosity without judgment; compassion and kindness without thought of himself.
It never occurred to him to ask questions or be suspicious. He saw a need and responded with love. I saw Anthony's heart that day, and it was beautiful. He taught me how to see with my heart. I explained to him that we would not give all of our money, but we would give some to the man in need, and we would pray that he safely finds his way home.
On the train back to Merrick, I watched Anthony's troubled face that showed his grief and concern for this man; startled by his first encounter with despair. I had so carefully planned the sights I wanted him to experience -- all except that one, the one that made the most lasting impression.
--Linda Cucurullo,Hempstead
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