Monsters take New York!

I’ve created a monster. Really. Many parents worry about the mistakes they have made in raising their children. I made the huge mistake of taking my kids, as teenagers, to Times Square to celebrate the New Year.
We drove from our sleepy little home in New England to the Big Apple and stayed in Bayside with my sister Rosemary and her family. My niece Christine accompanied us in her wheelchair, on the Long Island Railroad, for an afternoon of sight-seeing. I can’t remember exactly what sights we saw, but I do remember when we passed through Time Square around two in the afternoon on December 31st, crowds were starting to form, and we decided to forgo the sightseeing and park ourselves in the hopes of snagging a good spot to watch the ball drop. All day long I had been stating that all I really needed was a bathroom and a police officer.
I had my blanket and my knitting. We entered a “handicapped accessible area” and hung out all afternoon, chatting with a few people who had traveled from Australia to ring in the New Year in NY. There were about nine people in a 100 square foot area, so we were golden. There was a deli with a public restroom across the street, and dozens of police officers in the area. They came in handy several hours later when Chris found an abandoned backpack leaning on the nearest building. This was a couple years post 9/11, so the cops brought in the dogs, ushered us all to another section, only to discover the backpack held empty booze bottles. They were friendly police officers and one even let Dylan wear his cop hat and take some pictures with them.
At one point, Ryan Seacrest was there filming a little something. He was very unfriendly, wouldn’t even give Chris his autograph when she begged him. Later, I decided to spread out my blanket and have a little nap. The kids took pictures of this and later splashed them all over the internet. Oh, it was lots of fun hearing from the high school kids I worked with that they saw pictures of me sleeping like a bum in Times Square.
We bought some sandwiches at the deli around 3:30ish and waited in line for a half an hour to use the rest room. OK, so far, and the weather was decent. Around 5ish, Chris and I went for a walk to Tower Records, I think. Picture three foot-tall, gutsy as hell, Chris, in her wheelchair, bucking the throngs of people walking in the opposite direction. Chris is yelling at the top of her lungs “EXCUSE ME, EXCUSE ME!” People are scattering, yelling at each other to be careful of the little girl in her wheelchair. OMG, I will never forget this. Chris, I miss you so much!
Around 6ish, I had to go to the bathroom again. We waited an hour on line in the deli. The staff started yelling that we couldn’t ALL use it, they were gonna have plumbing problems. I yelled back that I had spent tons of money there and I HAVE to GO!
The crowd thickens, and I mean THICK. We stood around for HOURS, the high point was each hour they would give out trinkets, like balloons, hats, glasses. Really, it was torture, I’ll NEVER do it again. Hours passed, people arrived and squished us against the barriers. It was horrible. People got nasty, except when the cameras came by and everyone was happy and waving. By 11:30, the adrenaline was flowing and it got to be fun again, but painful, too. My heart was bursting, watching that ball drop, but the best part was the confetti, like snow, falling from all the nearby skyscrapers. When it was time to leave, the crowd, en masse, walked downtown towards Penn Station and literally lifted the smaller, lighter people as we made our way.
Watching the ball drop has become a regular ritual for my son Dylan. Every year he gathers up friends and makes his pilgrimage. One year he and his lovely, ever patient, girlfriend Nicole, braved temperatures in the teens, this past year, it rained on them. I stay home, snuggled under a blanket, read their Tweets, and watch for MY monsters on TV.