I was talking about baby names with someone once and they mentioned the name Athena. Them: You know, it's like every Greek girl you meet is named Athena. It's like come on already. Enough.
Me: Uh, I’m from Kentucky. I’ve yet to meet a real live Greek. Unless you're counting the "Toga! Toga!" kind.
Well, I can’t say that anymore!
I normally babysit one day per weekend for a couple who are somehow disinclined to parent on the weekends, so I come and sit with the baby while they take their toddler places (in the mom's case) or go to the gym and read the paper (in the dad's case.)
But instead of enjoying a quiet apartment today, I was thrown into Greek Easter festivities. It was me and 82 shouting people with gold jewelry and wavy, black Trumpesque pompadours. It’s exactly what you’re imagining.
How delightfully 19th century to have Irish hired help to hold your baby. I sat on the floor with Christina, Nico, Peter, George, Olympia and Athena as they played blocks. I wasn’t supposed to watch the older boy, but the dad told the mom, “He’s being really bad. Have Kate watch him.” On it!
They sent me out for a walk with the baby while they ate, I assume to avoid the awkward situation of asking if I was hungry. And with that, I was unleashed on the twee little Hummel village of Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. It’s a delight, if tree-lined streets, charming historical brownstones and precious little shops are your thing. Meh.
The sidewalks are filled with adorable ragamuffins peddling their organic lead-free wooden scooters (sample overheard 7 year old’s conversation, “Did you save the picture as a PDF? You gotta.”) The businesses are all owned by shopkeeps who followed their chi and opened organic gluten-free bakeries, organic fair-trade coffee shops and organic French toy wonder emporiums. And instead of having their dogs poop on you, as in Manhattan, Cobble Hill pet owners doff their caps and step aside. It was a welcome vacation. One that ended the minute I got back to Manhattan. The mom paid me and the dad immediately pulled over to let me out.
“Is here good?” he asked. I laughed because I thought he was joking. But no, he seriously let me out in a housing project’s parking lot with a wad of $20s.
Posts
7 comments:
7 year olds talking about pdf's?
I think thats how Children of the Corn started.
You've been warned.
We posted about Greek Orthodox Easter on the same day, although my experience has always been much less peppy than the popular image of Greeks. My wife is from a small family heavily watered down by boring old Germans and Eastern Europeans. I get all the Greek food and the church experience, but most of the people at her church are rather typical suburbanites except a lot more into hugging than I'm comfortable with.
They didn't let you eat AND dropped you off in a housing project? Who the hell are these people?
SM: My favorite tag on Gawker is "Shut up, Brooklyn". I think that applies to that kid.
Jacob: Was the food good? It smelled good.
Courtney: So Nanny Diaries, right?
Wow. You make New York(ers) sound awesome.
Lots of the food is good (see my reference to the magaritsa on my post), but Greek bread sucks.
Feeding the help is always awkward.
Post a Comment