This week is a tough week for NYC. No one will ever forget where they were on September 11, 2001. I was in Spanish class at North Broward Prep, and we had a substitute teacher who kept insisting we finish our quiz. I told her to suck it and ran out of the room to call my parents.
My whole family is from Rockaway, Queens. Coming from a family of NYC firefighters, I was very, VERY lucky to not lose a single person to the events of 9/11. My Uncle Mark, Uncle Eugene, and Uncle Jimmy spent months at Ground Zero looking for survivors, saving lives, and witnessing the unimaginable. They are absolute HEROES, and I could not be more proud to be a crazy, dysfunctional Gentile. And yes, we are dysfunctional, but also very entertaining and amazing. For instance, I give you my father:
This week, my parents were also in town to do a 100 mile bike race all over the five boroughs. Since last Thursday, it’s been me, my mom, my dad, their two bikes, my dog, and sometimes my sister in my 300-square foot studio apartment. While they were here, we went to Rockaway to visit my Nana and aunts and uncles, and the seagulls were more aggressive and bigger than ever. Then we saw a man who was making the most amazing sounds as he tried to communicate with them (don’t worry, we got it on film). Rockaway is a special place filled with special people.
