Staten Island, the 5th borough of New York City. A microcosm of all New York doesn’t want to offer, or as I call it, home. Everyone here has a variety of the New York stereotype. The genes for “incredibly loud and obnoxious” are hardwired into the DNA of those Staten Island natives: the Brooklyn Italians, the Brighton Beach Russians, or the Forest Hill Irish. They all converge in Staten Island. I need to escape the hustle and bustle of the city. My answer has arrived. College. When I received my acceptance to William & Mary last year, I saw my one-way ticket to a four-year paradise. The flowers in full bloom, beautiful 87-degree weather, and the quaint Colonial Williamsburg, stole my heart. I am proud to call this place my new home. Despite the solace I have found in Virginia, I eagerly plan my return to the city, hopeful for a brighter future.
Over Spring Break, I sat on the back deck of my Staten Island home with my dad. We sat around the wooden deck table on a Sunday morning having our usual bagels and orange juice.�
My dad is my role model. He grew up in a rinky-dink town in upstate New York called Fulton Hamm. The house he lived in, if you can call it that, was at the top of a small hill 20 miles away from the nearest neighbor. It was only 2 floors and had 3 bedrooms for 9 people to occupy. There was no heat or running water. The roof was barely held together by the nails his father put in them. His father only made a few dollars a week to keep food on the table and warm clothes on their backs. Eventually, he was able to move out of his place to the glimmering New York City. There, my father went to school, passed the bar exam, started his own business, and now practices law at an illustrious hedge fund. A man who once had nothing now has attained the American Dream.�
After my dad finished reading the morning paper, we started to discuss my friends, college life, my grades, and eventually, my future plans. In a monotone manner, I began to talk about how I plan to move to Manhattan, get a job like his, and be a success just like him.
He chuckled, “You don’t seem very happy about it.”
I took a deep breath. “Dad, we grew up very differently and I don’t see the same excitement of moving back here.”
He sat back. “Why?” he said.
“I just know I have to come back to get a job, to make money, to be a success.” I said.
He paused. He refilled our glasses of orange juice. He took a sip leaning back in his chair before saying, “Let me tell you what ‘success’ is.”
It was June 21st, 1996. 5:04AM. In a tiny apartment on the 7th floor in Tompkinsville, Staten Island, my mom’s water broke. Today was the day that I would enter the world. My mom called out to my dad. My dad rushed to her side. When he looked at her face, he knew that it was time. His heart was racing but he knew what he had to do. He rushed for the hospital bag and quickly led my mom gently down the stairs. He drove her to the Catholic hospital down the block. He guided my mom into the emergency department. He burst in the doors of the heavenly white lobby. The nurses spotted my parents and quickly swooped in bringing my mom into the delivery room. The doctors forced my dad to wait outside. While pacing in the lobby, my father looked at the cross hanging above the reception desk. He prayed, harder than ever. He thought back to his childhood and how hard life was for him. How he grew up in a household that could barely support the entire family. He thought to himself that wouldn’t happen with me.
Several hours later, one of the nurses told my dad that I was born healthy and happy. He began to cry. The nurse led my dad to my mom’s room. He walked as fast as he could to my mom. As the nurse opened the door, my dad jumped out from behind her, viewing my mom cradling me in her arms. He smiled harder and longer that he ever had before. He strolled over to my mom’s bedside gazing at my huge blue eyes. He sat down beside my mom and took me into his arms. While he was holding me, I had made eye contact with him. In that moment, he felt the true love that I had for him as his creation. He whispered to me, “You are my greatest achievement. I will love you endlessly.”
My head shot up. My eyes widened as I set down my glass.
He said, “On that day, I realized something. I could provide for you, your mother, and your education. All from an enterprise, I started myself without any assistance from anyone outside of ourselves.”
Even with all the people I grew up around, I discovered that New York provides much more than financial gain. My father really opened up my perspective of how important New York is not only for financial means but also for personal means. I can build something unique in a city blessed with so much opportunity. I can create a life that I would be proud to live with a family that loves me right behind me in all my endeavors in this highly competitive city. Look out New York, Alex will return.
