#64

Another unique challenge to raising kids in the city is that whenever you step out of your front door, you have an audience to your child rearing. Walking down the street, riding on the train, going out to eat, you have (at least in New York) representatives from over 100 different countries silently judging you. This may sound paranoid, but only because it's true. I know because I do it to other parents. We all do, it's just that in a town where the only privacy you get is in your bedroom (unless you live in my house) there are more opportunities.

Example: We're on the train. Isaac has a cough. He is usually good at covering his mouth, but this time he forgets. It has been an H-E-double hockey-sticks of a day, and I am semi-comatose and enjoying the opportunity to take three breaths without lifting a kid, pushing a stroller, or answering a question, so I skip the verbal reminder. A nearby (childless) couple notices. The female crinkles her nose. Looks at me, looks at Isaac, looks back at me, cups her hand over her mouth and whispers to her boyfriend, who looks at Isaac, then at me. I want to punch them in their well-rested wrinkle-free faces. This sort of interaction doesn't happen in cars.

The kids, however, love all the extra contact with adults. Isaac is especially apt to strike up a conversation with anyone on the street:

"HI! I'M SPIDUH-MAYUN! I'M GONNA GET SOME BAD GUYS!!"

This garners him many smiles, and the odd high-five.

The other day, Isaac identified himself and his crime-fighting intentions to a passing stranger who studiously ignored him, although he was only a couple of feet away, and had made eye contact. I though Isaac's feelings were going to be hurt, but big brother stepped in and explained (loud enough for the stranger to hear)

"Don't bother telling HIM, Isaac. He doesn't understand."