One chilly winter day, I hopped onto the F train with my son, Noah, and his close friend, Mia. Noah had just turned 7, and to celebrate his birthday, I was taking them to see Mary Poppins on Broadway. They were growing up fast—no more hand-holding or hovering. I watched as they stood apart, clutching the pole and gazing out like true New Yorkers… until Mia absentmindedly kissed the pole. I quickly snapped a picture for her parents to capture the moment, then instructed them to take a seat.
They plopped down in the molded plastic seats across from me, diving into a conversation about whatever fascinated 7-year-olds at that time (this was before the Rainbow Loom craze but after Wow Wow Wubbzy). I felt a swell of pride watching them—so confident and mature, two wise kids navigating the bustling city.
A few minutes later, as we still had several stops to go, the door at the far end of the car swung open with a loud clang. A man entered, scanning the rows of seated commuters. I took stock of him: camo attire, a cardboard sign hanging around his neck, and a container in hand. My gut told me he was a homeless veteran.
As he shuffled down the aisle, weaving between poles and distracted riders, he began sharing his story in a shaky voice, rattling a can for donations. The other passengers remained oblivious—only a truly shocking scene would get a regular subway commuter to look up.
Meanwhile, I felt my anxiety rising. How would I explain this situation to the kids? I wasn’t sure what Mia’s parents had told her about homelessness, mental health issues, or the struggles faced by veterans. Would they be sad? Would they want to offer him lunch? These kids had certainly encountered homelessness before, especially since Noah and I had discussed it after stepping over a man who slept on our corner. But this time felt different—more personal.
The man approached our aisle and stopped directly in front of Noah and Mia, effectively placing himself between them and me. I decided to let the moment unfold. Up close, I could see the man was in his fifties; his sign was filled with shaky lettering and a couple of hand-drawn American flags, making it hard to read. His clothes were clean but ill-fitting, and his eyes looked distant and sad.
As he spoke, saying, “I am a homeless veteran. I served my country, but now I’ve been abandoned,” I glanced at Noah and Mia. They were completely captivated, silent with their mouths pressed shut, their eyes darting between his sign and his face, clearly absorbing something profound. They held their hands tightly in their laps, and my heart swelled at their evident compassion.
The man rattled his container, which resembled an oversized roll of Lifesavers—those festive, colorful tubes filled with candy. As he concluded his speech, the atmosphere was still. The children’s expressions showed a mix of sadness and a desire to help, though they felt powerless as children. I thought, at least this would serve as a good starting point for an important conversation.
In my distraction, I forgot to give the man any money. No one else did either, and he moved on, leaving the car as empty as before. A moment later, Noah turned to Mia, his face lit up with emotion. I leaned in, eager to hear what he would say. “Mia!” he exclaimed, pointing towards the man. “He’s so lucky—he has a whole thing of Lifesavers!”
Just then, the train lurched to a stop, the doors opened, and the man stepped off, continuing his journey to the next car.
This experience reminds us that life in New York City offers profound lessons, even in the most unexpected places. For more on navigating the complexities of parenthood, check out our other blog posts, such as those at intracervicalinsemination.com for valuable insights. If you’re interested in fertility journeys, Make a Mom provides excellent resources on self-insemination kits. Additionally, for comprehensive information on pregnancy, visit NICHD, which is an invaluable resource.
In summary, this subway ride with Noah and Mia opened avenues for discussions about empathy, societal issues, and the innocence of childhood, proving that even in the bustling chaos of city life, important lessons can emerge.