Long Walk to Understanding

It’s too early on a Saturday morning. Baseball practice has just ended, and all I want to do is jump back in bed. Unfortunately, I’ve already promised myself I would make the walk from Regis to Grand Central down Park Avenue. After reading how E.B. White felt about commuters in New York City, I felt motivated to get off my suburban rear end, pick up my head, and take in the wonders of this great city.

            I take a long look down Park, still feeling hesitant about making the walk. I need to do it. I have to show E.B. White that his claim about suburbanites was completely inaccurate. However, I don’t even reach the 70’s yet before I start counting down the streets until Grand Central at 42^nd. Man, White could not have been more right. Over the past four years, I had grown so accustomed to putting my head down and making it to my destination as quickly as humanly possible. This walk was going to take a long time, but it would be good for me.

            Aside from Central Park, it is difficult to find a nice patch of grass on the island of Manhattan. Unless, of course, you are walking down Park Avenue. I had never noticed how beautiful the isle in the middle of the avenue was. It was oddly juxtaposed to all of the speeding, horn-honking, and fumes of the myriad of cars. Then I remembered why that isle existed in the first place. My dad once told me that Metro-North trains used to run above ground right down Park Avenue into Grand Central Terminal. To be honest, I wish the trains still ran that way so I could hop on and be at Grand Central already. My legs, and the rest of my body for that matter, were so tired. But seriously, it must have been such an incredible view of the city, I thought to myself. It certainly beats the dark tunnels of the modern day subway system.

            I eventually stopped counting down the streets and began to really take in the city and enjoy the experience. What I realized was that people who live in the city really are not that different from people who reside in the suburbs. This was made clear to me when I saw this little girl and her father. She was riding a little pink scooter, just like the one my sister used to ride up and down the driveway at my house. This girl didn’t need a fancy driveway to enjoy the experience of riding a scooter. She already had everything she needed. The same was true for the next person I encountered. It was an older Asian fellow who happened to be riding his bicycle as I made my way down Park. With the number of cars packing the streets in Manhattan, I was shocked to see a guy casually riding a bike in the street. “What a badass,” I muttered to myself in awe, half-hoping he would hear me and acknowledge my presence. Overall, the city really is not that different from my hometown in the suburbs. People enjoy the same sorts of activities. In fact, the scenery might even make those activities more fun in such an exciting city.

            I finally looked to see how far away Grand Central was. It was so close I could have hit one of the windows with the toss of a ball. I could not believe how quickly the trip went. I took a final look back up Park Avenue, reflecting on my journey. Although E.B. White may have been correct in his description of commuters, I had this newfound appreciation for the kinds of New Yorkers who live differently than I do. After all, I’m only a small piece of this great city.