It Felt Like A Kidnapping
My decision to leave the Bronx wasn't made lightly. Our vibrant neighborhood of working-class families and immigrant hopes, had begun to fray. Crime was creeping in, school resources were dwindling, and the promise of opportunity for my sons seemed to slip away by the hour.
As a single mother working at a prestigious New York law firm, I clearly understood that it wasn’t enough to survive. I wanted my kids to thrive. The Bronx was urban, tight, familiar. Our apartment had been a sanctuary of sorts. With this move, we were writing a new chapter, one packed box at a time. I wanted the chance for them to breathe, to grow, to know cultures that weren't constrained by the narrow streets and even narrower expectations. California would be wide open, different in every conceivable way. My legal background had taught me one crucial lesson: preparation is key!
There was one MAJOR problem: I hadn’t prepared my sons for the move!
**************
Their room was a mess, the afternoon sunlight casting long shadows across their scattered belongings. Reid watched his younger brother Tiege, whose small hands crammed stuffed animals and action figures into an oversized camping bag.
"You're not going to fit all those toys," Reid said, his voice a mix of practical concern and sibling exasperation.
Never looking up, Tiege in his usual stubborn voice said, "I'm not leaving my men behind!" They were his lifeline to the world he was leaving.
Reid sighed. The impending move felt like a weight pressing down on his chest. Three thousand miles – the vast distance was terrifying to him.
"Do you understand how far we're going?" he asked, more to himself than to his brother. "It's like we're leaving everything behind. The city... it'll be like a whole different world out there."
With Michelangelo, his crusty ninja turtle clutched in hand, Tiege looked up from his crooked glasses.
"Yeah," he said slowly. "I wanna go to Disney. We had a lot of fun in Florida." His distant gaze suddenly focused. "You think they have kids in California? Black kids like us? I'm sure gonna miss Philip and Frankie and Johnny."
[A side note: Contrary to the song, in this neighborhood of the Bronx, Frankie and Johnny were brothers!]
Reid hadn’t thought about what the kids in California were like or for that matter their color. This new line of questions left him more anxious and jittery. They were both leaving behind more than just a place – they were leaving a community of family, friendships, the familiar comfort of home.
"Are you scared?" Tiege finally asked, his voice soft.
Reid hesitated and then confessed, “Yeah. I’m scared.”
At nine years old, Reid knew that fear was nothing to be ashamed of. He’d been in scrapes before with neighborhood kids that instantly transformed his Reeboks into a 9mph sprint from impeding danger. This was a boy’s anxiety that was unknown – it was completely foreign to him. He always protected his younger brother. Would he be strong enough for the journey?
Their mom stood in the doorway and checked on their progress. "Everything ok in here," asking with mild concern. One son responded with a quick "yes," while the other offered only a slight nod. Something felt off. They were unnaturally quiet, their usual sibling banter replaced by an unusual stillness. But with boxes scattered and clothing half-packed, and a thousand details she hadn’t checked off her list, she dismissed any cues of worry. The Bronx was about to become a memory, and California waited with promise and uncertainty.
**************
That whole scenario occurred some thirty-odd years ago. I knew I wanted to write something about our ‘90s move, so I sat down with Reid, and we chatted about it. He opened my eyes to a few thoughts that I’d never entertained!
“Be honest and tell me how you felt about leaving New York?” I asked
“Well, let’s see. I hated leaving my familiar surroundings. The distance – 3,000 miles was like moving to the moon. I thought there would be giants. You know, giants roaming around! Everyone would be bigger than me,” he explained.
“And Tiege?”
“Tiege was only seven, so his concerns were totally different than mine. The boy was more hostile but mainly despised leaving New York. He was a city boy – born and bred!” he laughed.
“Why didn’t either of you ever tell me how you felt?” I inquired.
“Why didn’t you ever ask us how we felt about moving?” His response was respectful. “You see, you never prepare us for the move. I never saw pictures of the town, the school or where we would be living. You have no idea how it felt to be kidnapped from our secure home and nothing we said or did would have made a difference. We had real anxiety because we had no idea what was gonna happen next. It was like going on a trip wearing a blindfold and imagining we’re being pelted with little grenades along the way.”
I felt a lump in my throat, and he could see my eyes were glassy so his tone softened.
“Mom, I don’t tell you this to say that you should have been more transparent. It is what it is! Tiege and I turned out fine. If nothing, you’ve created two independent young men that have lived lives with anything but fear!”
“True,” biting my lip. “I guess I believed in your resilience more than you both knew.”
“Remember when we were there for about a month or so and you took us to Pier 39. That man with the six-foot Boa Constrictor asked if anyone wanted to put him around their neck. Tiege and I were frantically raising our hands. We were excited. Apparently, our fear of living in California dissipated.”
“Yes, I remember. I took the photos. I mainly remembered the fear on all the people’s faces and how they kept their distance from you both. Maybe inside, I knew you two would be okay after that. Whatever the case, you’ve both traveled the world, at times solo. You’ve experienced an array of foods, and made lasting friendships with people abroad. I remember you telling me about when you lived for three months in Brazil.”
“Yeah. The first thing I did was go out and buy clothes that the locals wore. That way, I could be in and out of any neighborhood without standing out as a tourist. Here’s a photo of the view from my Airbnb. The view is nice just don’t look down! Here’s another of me in front of Beco do Batman,” we laughed at the funny photos.
“Mom, we couldn’t imagine growing up with another mother that was more fun, loving (but not mushy loving), adventurous, cranky at times, generous and a disciplinarian when needed,” he said reassuring me. Our conversation ended with a quiet: “good night.”
***************
Right now, of course, my BIG fear is emerging as a writer. Aside from that, I've always embraced adventure! And another thing, rehashing to myself our previous conversation - I was the one who did all the heavy lifting regarding the move. I was the one who worked hard, paid off debts, scrimped and saved to move them out of a neighborhood that promised little future. I wrote to our new city’s Chamber of Commerce, researching places to live, schools, transportation, even Houses of Worship. I wasn't just planning a move. I was designing a new life for Us Three. Each letter, each phone call was another brick in the foundation.
There was one area that I hadn’t fully researched. Coming from New York I believed I could walk into any law firm and obtain employment. I hadn’t realized that there was trouble in paradise. One after another, prominent Bay Area law firms collapsed. I had to settle for temporary work at a firm that was riddled with financial problems. But you know me - Miss Positive! After all, our family's lifeline was at stake. I went back on my verbal diatribe: What child wouldn't want an adventure? Why wouldn’t they catch onto the ride? I saw the potential for growth and was committed to our family’s future. And yet, in that moment of mental bluster, tears swelled in my eyes. I treated my seven- and nine-year-old as passengers - whereas they should have been brought on as PARTNERS on our journey.
Was I a bad mom for not considering their feelings? Was I so caught up in the big picture that I missed the small, tender moments of their uncertainty, their fears, their anxieties? Could I have shown more compassion and communicated openly? Instead, I was armed with sword in hand and ready to take the next hill. Pressing on to the next adventure – was it a blessing or a burden that infected young lives?
Then I remembered Reid's words, a balm to my self-doubt: ‘Mom, we couldn't imagine growing up with another mother that was more fun, loving (but not mushy loving), adventurous, cranky at times, generous and a disciplinarian when needed,’ hmm..
In the quiet of my bedroom, with only the side table lamp casting a soft glow, I realized that our journey was never about a move for the sake of prosperity. It was about transformation, resilience, and the unbreakable bond of a family willing to leap into the unknown together. There would be no wrestling with these memories tonight – just a peaceful sleep, wrapped in the certainty of love. -B