Miracle on 34th Street

I never expected to be in midtown Manhattan on the fifth anniversary of 9/11. I simply headed due west on Long Island to I-95 south. I didn't consider that the shortest route would mean crossing through the heart of NYC. I am glad that I blithely traced my fingertip along 495 W without thought. Otherwise I would not have experienced my own miracle on 34th street.

Those who know me well, know I was born in Brooklyn. And those who have been with me when I'm fatigued know that I occasionally lose my hard earned diction and slip into the Brooklynese of my childhood. That is, I tawk funny. It's Noo Yawk Tawk. The nuns at St. Joseph's beat most of it out of me. Can you think of a harder way to earn diction? But they couldn't beat all of it out of me. And I suppose that's the miracle I experienced today; the unexpected recognition of self as I came face to face with a part of me I thought was left behind.

My car and I, used to the winding roads of Virginia horse country rather than the stop and go of city driving, creapt up 34th Street. The Empire State Building rose on my left and Macy's beckoned to me on the right. People of every conceivable type brushed past one another on the sidewalk. Their movements were economical and had a no nonsense air of determination that said, "I am getting to where I am going now, not later."

As I watched this urgent dance between the city dwellers, tourists, kamikazi cabbies, and unflappable bus drivers, I suddenly realized why I approach the world with an in your face, I'll grab you by the short hairs if you cross me aggression. I understand that some people find it hard to reconcile the highly educated world traveler they know me to be with the tough fighter that emerges when I feel threatened. There is no doubt that education, professional achievement, travel, and affluence all acted as a finishing school. But in the end, I am a Noo Yawka. If you peel away the veneer of refinement you find someone who can push herself through a crowd, fearlessly crosswalk, and deep down hates the BoSox with an irrational passion.

I am a Noo Yawka. I had almost forgotten that I am a Noo Yawka. But at 11:06 am today I sat absolutely still in the streets of New York City and I remembered. No cars moved. No horns honked. No one impatiently offered vulgar gestures. All of us sat there in silence, all of us New Yorkers, and all of us remembered.