The Nina, The Pinta, And The IRT

Our mother was a powerful person, controlling all facets of daily life, except whatever small aspects we could hide from her, or were naturally private. These did not amount to much.

Our father had power, too, but it derived from outside the house, where he spent most of his time.

We figured he did a lot of work out there, because when he left in the morning, he smelled fresh (shaving cream) and looked sharp. When he came home, something had obviously took the mickey out of him: wrinkled clothes, loose tie, immediate beer.

He seemed all right, though, and would stand in the kitchen with his beer talking to our mother while she finished cooking dinner.

The fact that he could even get to this job mystified me.

He took the bus on Clarkson and Utica Avenues in the opposite direction from everything I knew. I knew Clarkson Avenue, Lenox Road, Linden Boulevard, Church Avenue, Snyder Avenue, Tilden Avenue, Beverly Road. The library was on Beverly Road, a pretty far walk, and I didn't know anything beyond that.

In the other direction, I didn't know a single thing. Not even one street. He went that way because that's where the subway was.

The subway was a gigantic mystery. He tried to take me on it once. It didn't work out. I didn't like the noise or the smell or the fact that it was underground.

Underground? How do you know when to get off? I refused to get on, and that displeased him. I didn't mind the swat I got as he dragged me back upstairs. At least I was still alive and aware of my surroundings.

He also had the ability to drive a car. That was good, but I really admired his capacity in knowing where things were.

He knew how to get to Flatbush Avenue, Prospect Park, and Manhattan Beach, places we drove to regularly, but not frequently, so how did he remember? I sure didn't.

Every once in a while we would go to a different beach. Riis Park. He knew that, too. Or somewhere new. Shea Stadium. Are you kidding me? It was an hour away with a thousand turns. He never even asked for a second opinion.

Columbus was a famous guy, so I could see it was considered a valuable skill to know how to get places. Some day I would, I figured, though it might be by bus, for me.