An Unplanned Junket to Yonkers/Take the A

On my way back from Stamford tonight, I had a little adventure when my car overheated and died on Broadway in the Bronx, just off the Henry Hudson Parkway. Given that I rolled to a stop in front of the Riverdale Equestrian Centre, I was fairly certain that this was not going to be my personal Bonfire of the Vanities.

I called Roadside Assistance for the Misanthropemobile and a tow truck was on the way in short order. We got the car to a storage lot and the towing company will take it to the dealer for repairs on Monday. The towing lot was in Yonkers and I needed to get home. In a display of shocking kindness, the guy who towed me got in his car and drove me all the way to the A train on 207th Street in Manhattan. It may not seem like a huge deal, but he probably saved me a good 45 minutes in travel time and he went pretty far out of his way to do it.

It's just too bad I couldn't understand a word the man was saying at any point in the trip.

Fresh from this kind gesture, I was in as jolly a mood as one can be when riding the A train, at least until a father and his two boys got on the train and sat across the aisle from me. After watching them from 207th Street to 34th Street, my heart was pretty much broken.

You see, the father talked to those two boys (I'm guessing ages 9 and 7) with such violence in his voice and such anger that it was all I could do not to wince. He was not yelling or even talking loudly. He was just flat out mean, in the plainest sense of the word.

The younger one was still at an age where he took the abuse silently, although with much confusion. After an exchange with his father, he would return to that world where 7 year olds live, the one where the biggest challenge is deciding if the Mr. Incredible action figure will defeat the evil crab action figure.

The older one, however, was aware enough to have a slighlty defeated look when his father spoke. What was worse, it was clear that, unlike his brother, he was old enough to be conscious of the fact that other people could see the way his father treated them. You could see in his eyes that a light was slowly going out.

I once saw a documentary about New York in which the narrator said that every day, New Yorkers see the greatest kindness to others and the greatest cruelty.

You can see it all in one trip on the A train.