Small Victories, on the Streets Where We Live

I held on to my 86 year old mother with something just short of a bone crushing death grip as we made our way through Times Square the other day. A roiling sea of people moved in every direction, and I was far more concerned that my mom, still recovering from a broken hip, would be felled by by an errant elbow or, maybe, a baby stroller than I was with the kind of dime store terrorism that has come into fashion.

The concrete blocks that rose up at regular intervals on the sidewalk seemed more of a nuisance than a precaution. To many, they were nothing more than a good place to sit (though I would bet the sitters were actually undercover cops). Broadway had been closed to traffic for a few blocks, with New York's finest lining the intersections in an obvious show of, if not force, at least presence. It took me longer than it should have to realize that this wasn't simply an ordinary urban pleasantry -- a pedestrian mall for the weekend. This is "us," now, always following closely at the heels of the latest threat. Liquids pass with ease through airline security now that ordinary cars have become weapons.

Our foray into the Times Square subway station was even more death defying. It had nothing to do with the fear of becoming a sitting duck in an underground tunnel stinking of urine on the off chance some lunatic decided to blow things up that day. I was too busy wrapping my body around my tiny mother -- centimeters behind her so she wouldn't notice -- as she insisted on navigating the maze of stairs and ramps without holding on to me. Kind of the opposite of teaching a child to ride a bike -- I was pretending to let go but hanging on for dear life.

My mother, in her own special (and infuriating) way, is doing what everyone else was doing in Times Square the other day, and in places people tend to go all around the civilized world. She is determined to live life as she always has, to not let a little broken bone or some surgery stand in her way. She is not thinking about terrorists; she is living life, on her terms. Her bucket list may seem uninspiring to some, but to her,  a day at the theatre, a walk through Times Square, a crowded subway ride, and dinner with her children is like shooting for the stars.

The thought of the car plowing through a crowd in Times Square only weeks earlier floated through my mind briefly. Not "terrorism," they said, but I think we can all agree it wasn't a random act of kindness either. Still, as I held on to my mother and did my best to keep her safe, I marveled at the sheer number of people out to simply enjoy a beautiful summer afternoon in New York. Small battles won by all of us, every day.