How to Raise a City Kid

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How to Raise a City Kid

Years ago when our son was a toddler many of our friends began fleeing to the suburbs.  They couldn’t imagine raising a child in Manhattan with all the dirt and crime.

“But think of  the culture!”,  I would say.

At the Met Museum five-year-old Noah,  wide-eyed at Arms & Armor,  or perched spellbound on the grand staircase watching a stonecutter etch a donor’s name on the marble wall.

And making Purim masks at the Jewish Museum,  and model dinosaurs at the Natural History,  and reading the night skies at a kids’ astronomy class at the Planetarium,  and delighting when Red Grooms took over the Whitney.

And at a Chagall exhibit at the Guggenheim when he was three or four,  Noah pointing up from his stroller to ask incredulously,  “Another cow who’s FLYING?”

And theater and concerts –  children’s shows at the Beacon,  and Dino Anagnost’s wonderful Little Orchestra,  and The Paper Bag Players and Mummenschanz at the 92nd St Y.

”But we can bring our kids into the city for all that!”,  our smug suburban friends would say.

“Ah yes,”  I would say,  “but if you needed a taxi in the rain,  and the wind was blowing your umbrella inside-out while you were trying to fold the stroller,  would your four-year-old raise his arm and yell Checker?”

Carl Schurz Park,  NYC ,  1978

– Dana Susan Lehrman

My Own Worst Critic

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My Own Worst Critic

Let’s be honest, folks. We all have that voice in our heads. The one that whispers (or sometimes shrieks) insecurities like a malfunctioning smoke detector. This eternal internal tormentor, for lack of a better term, is what I like to call my own personal Jiminy Cricket.

Imagine, if you will, a tiny, gremlin-like creature perched on your shoulder. It wears a sensible pantsuit and carries an umbrella while perpetually displaying a frowny face emoji. This is Jiminy, my personal brand of self-doubt. Jiminy specializes in passive-aggressive critiques delivered with the saccharine cheer of a customer service rep keeping me on hold for 45 minutes.

I just finished that presentation? “Wow, you managed not to trip over the projector cord. Baby steps!” I aced that big exam? “Well, at least you didn’t get a failing grade. Participation trophy for you!” Jiminy is the master of diminishing returns, turning victories into lukewarm consolation prizes.

But here’s the thing: Jiminy is not entirely wrong. My memory, for instance, resembles a particularly cluttered Tupperware drawer. I once spent 20 minutes searching for my phone while holding it in my hand, mid-conversation. And let’s not even get started on the time I accidentally signed up for a clown college email list because, apparently, “juggling for beginners” sounded like a good life skill. (Honestly – I still believe that could be possible.)

The problem with Jiminy isn’t his occasional valid point, it’s his relentless negativity. It’s like having a tiny Gordon Ramsay permanently stationed in my brain, critiquing my every move with withering pronouncements like, “Those mashed potatoes are a flavor catastrophe!”

The worst part? Jiminy thrives on my silence. Leave him to his own devices and he’ll happily turn a minor setback into an existential crisis. Spilled my coffee on my shirt before a date? Jiminy throws a confetti parade of “See? You ALWAYS ruin everything!”

So, how do I deal with any internal Negative Ned? Here’s my strategy, folks: externalize the gremlin. Give Jiminy a voice, a name, a small umbrella and a truly terrible pantsuit. By acknowledging his presence perhaps we can take away some of his power.

Next, let’s re-frame the narrative. Instead of Jiminy’s “you barely scraped by” monologue, let’s create a more constructive counterpoint. Did you trip over your words during that presentation? Great! Not a problem, now you know to practice more next time. Did you almost enroll in clown college? Thankfully, a near miss! Fantastic! Now you have a hilarious anecdote for your next party.

Look, I’m not suggesting I should banish Jiminy entirely. A healthy dose of self-criticism is important for growth. But the key is to change him from a nagging gremlin into a helpful – albeit slightly less judgmental personal life coach.

Remember, folks, we are all human. We are all going to mess up, stumble, or occasionally trip over projector power cords. But by acknowledging our inner critic and learning to laugh at him or her and maybe ourselves, we can turn those stumbles into stepping stones, and those spilled coffees into (hopefully) funny stories for Retrospect. Just don’t tell Jiminy I said that. He might try to trademark the phrase.

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