Brandon Stanton's Blog, page 72

“I’m the best uncle. I think it’s because I have a little more...

“I’m the best uncle.  I think it’s because I have a little more energy in the reserve tank, since I’m the only one of my siblings without kids.  I’d love to have children but just haven’t had the chance yet.  But I do have twelve nieces and nephews, and I try to see them as much as I can.  This morning I called my sister and offered to take these two for the day.  I know how much she needs the free time.  Just a chance to get stuff done.  Maybe get out of the house for a few hours.  And no matter how crazy it gets with these two, it’s always stress free for me.  It’s just golden.  I always want them to have someone they can come to that’s not their mum.  They have a great relationship with their mum.  But mum is always mum.  And you don’t want to disappoint her.  So if you ever have a problem, or you get in a little trouble, and you’re afraid to tell someone, but you still need some guidance, that’s when you come to Uncle Markus.”
(London, England)

“The problem didn’t start until I was ten. I remember her being...

“The problem didn’t start until I was ten.  I remember her being happy when I was little.  Super happy.  Really loving and caring.  Always spending time with us.  Knowing exactly what we needed.  Everyone in the family has different theories about what happened.  She was only nineteen when she met my dad.  He was already a partner at a really big law firm.  So she’s never had to work.  All she had to do was spend time with us.  My dad thinks she was so attached to me and my brother that she was terrified of losing us.  And when we became old enough to attend boarding school, that fear overcame her.  She drank all the time.  Even when she wasn’t drinking, it felt like a time bomb until she was.  She’d say unpleasant things.  She’d fall down the stairs.  She’d be unconscious or vomiting.  Dad was always traveling, so it was my responsibility to stop her, or she’d end up in the hospital.  I’d lock doors.  I’d take her money.  I’d hide keys.  But she’d do anything to escape.  She withdrew from so many rehab facilities.  I grew so depressed that my psychiatrist recommended a meditation retreat in the countryside.  One thing they taught us is that suffering comes from our attachments.  I think I’ve become attached to the memory of my mum being well, and my desire to go back there.  When I was a child we’d always take these holidays to the Turkish seaside.  We’d eat fruits on the beach.  Mum would caress my head on her lap.  She’d watch us swim.  And whenever I got out of the water, she’d be there with a towel to keep me warm.”
(London, England)

“I see it in the media. And I hear about other people who have...

“I see it in the media.  And I hear about other people who have experienced it.  So I don’t want to speak for anyone else.  But I’ve never felt any racism in the UK.  Not even once.  I drive Uber almost every day.  I’ve had thousands of customers.  I always interact with them.  They are not angels all the time, of course. But The Prophet teaches us to look seventy times for wisdom in each person.  If someone says something negative, I always respond with positivity.  I squeeze my hand exerciser and think of the nicest way to reply.  Maybe that person doesn’t like my color or religion, I don’t know.  But they never show it.  Everyone treats me fine.  I get a lot of tips.  I always give them to my children, and tell them: ‘These are the gifts my passengers give me for good service.’  My children say: ‘What service?  You just drive people for five minutes.’  I tell them: ‘There is so much service you can give in five minutes.’”
(London, England)

“Yesterday we found an encyclopedia from the Late Victorian era,...

“Yesterday we found an encyclopedia from the Late Victorian era, which means sort of before they invented electricity and when they had cars but not so modern ones.  It’s quite a long encyclopedia.  And it’s very heavy and has brown spots on the pages.  Gramble said not to read it in the car cause I would get sick and dizzy but I did it anyway and I got sick but only a little bit.  I discovered a lot of facts that aren’t facts anymore.  I discovered two extinct animals.  One was sort of like a sawfish except it had hairs instead of spikes on its nose.  The other was sort of like a T-Rex except it had four legs like a dog.  When I become an archaeologist I can discover my own dinosaur bones.  Gramble showed me how to dig very carefully and dust off your discoveries.  Yesterday we went on a treasure hunt with our metal detector.  We were hoping to find a pound or maybe an old Roman coin, but instead we found a tent peg and Mum called it rubbish and made us throw it away.”
(London, England)

“Saturdays are my only day with him. I try to keep him away...

“Saturdays are my only day with him.  I try to keep him away from the TV, and do little things that he might not do with his mother.  We’ve got a kite in the bag that we’re going to try in a few minutes.  His mum and I get on fine.  Some parents stick it out for the sake of the child, but we wanted to have happy lives as well.  And we both keep his best interests in heart.  With so little time together, I was worried at first about getting through to him.  Even though he’d say ‘Daddy’ a lot, I wasn’t really sure if he knew what that word meant or if he recognized a deeper connection.  If they were ever on holiday, or we spent an odd weekend apart, I’d definitely feel a distance when we reunited.  But now that he’s a little older, it’s more of an emotional connection.  He kisses and hugs me all the time.  I’m more sure of the bond.  I just want it to sink in that I’m someone who’s always there and will always support him.  I’m not just a Saturday playmate.”
(London, England)

(4/4) “Ed used to let me babysit for his children. His son Dan...

(4/4)  “Ed used to let me babysit for his children.  His son Dan was just a baby back then.  But I always knew he was special.  When he got a little older we’d do little plays together.  Snow White.  Peter Pan.  We even printed little paper tickets.  It was almost like I was part of the family.  But Dan got a little older and didn’t have as much time.  And that’s OK.  I’ve grown a lot.  I know that if Dan doesn’t talk to me for a few weeks because he’s traveling, he’s still my friend.  I’m strong enough to know that.  He’ll always care about me.  He’s just like his dad that way.  Even when he was a little kid, and I’d call the house, Dan would never say: ‘Here’s my Dad.’  He’d always sit there and talk to me.  He knows how to slow down my brain when I’m overwhelmed and everything comes out too fast.  Last night we went to see a Broadway musical.  I gave him all the birthday presents I’ve been saving since February.  And today we’re going for high tea so we can sit in the air conditioning and talk about our memories.  Dan has a fiancée now, and he’s so busy, and recently I’ve been thinking that he probably doesn’t have time for me anymore.  And that maybe I shouldn’t call so much.  But he never seems to mind.  He always takes the time.  Just like Ed.  Sometimes I’ll just call him to say I just want to tell you that I love you.”

(¾) “I was away on a trip when it happened. I’d gone to...

(¾)  “I was away on a trip when it happened.  I’d gone to the Three Stooges Museum with the Aktion Club, and we found out that Ed had a stroke.  If I had known that he was sick, I wouldn’t have gone at all.  I knew that he had blood clots, but he always said: ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.’  But I should have been there.  It was horrible.  I’d already lost nine people in my life.  And now I was losing a best friend.  And a coach.  And a mentor.  Everyone just sort of moved on after the funeral.  I didn’t know what to do.  I just wanted to sleep a lot.  I started acting up real bad and having bad thoughts.  Thoughts that were not good.  I don’t really want to say.  It was just so much at one time.  But Ed always told me that I was stronger than that and I knew he wouldn’t want me to do this.  What would Ed want?  Ed would want me to slow down.  Ed would want me to think things through.  He lost his father too.  So he knew what it was like.  He’d want me to use my coping skills.  He would want me to be healthy.  And to live the best life possible like he’s still here.  And if you think about it, a person’s spirit is kinda like a person.  So it’s almost like Ed is still here.  This Saturday he will have been gone for six years.  I had a wonderful idea to honor him.  Every year on his birthday, the Aktion Club throws a party at Riviera Pizza, where Ed took me to dinner each week.”

(2/4) “During my first year in Ed’s class, I lost a good friend...

(2/4)  “During my first year in Ed’s class, I lost a good friend to suicide.  I felt so confused and alone.  But Ed gave me a big hug, and told me: ‘That’s not going to happen to you because you’re strong.  You’re stronger than that.’  And I think that’s when  he changed from my teacher to my friend.  He brought me home to meet his family.  He became almost like a second father to me.  Whenever I had a meltdown, my mom would reach out to Ed.  He could always read my mind.  He’d tell me: ‘I know what’s wrong.  Prom is coming up in two weeks and you’re really nervous.’  But other times Ed would be tough on me because he knew that I could handle it.  Whenever my feelings got hurt, he’d let me cry it out.  But then he’d sit me down and say: ‘You’re stronger than this.  Don’t let them get a reaction out of you.’  Together we started a club for neurodiverse people called The Aktion Club, and Ed asked me to be the president.  He knew that I had leadership skills.  It was hard when I graduated high school because I stopped seeing Ed every day.  It made me a little sad that I couldn’t see him all the time but I knew that he was really busy because he had a family.  And there were so many other students he had to help.  But we still talked on the phone.  And we met once a week for dinner at Riviera Pizza.  I’m not sure what my life would have been like without him.  I’d probably have been OK because I’m strong, but it would have been a lonely existence.”

(¼) “I was sixteen. Right in the middle of puberty....

(¼)  “I was sixteen.  Right in the middle of puberty.  And I couldn’t connect with the world.  I couldn’t understand why I did the things I did.  I’d never look people in the eye.  I always looked down at my shoes.  Other students bullied me.  They’d push me into lockers.  They’d throw things at me.  They’d say: ‘Dina’s not talking.  Dina won’t care.’  Older people would do things to me that were bad.  And they’d say: ‘Don’t tell anyone honey, this is a secret.  This is between you and me.’  I didn’t trust people.  I was really afraid of the world.  Sometimes I’d just want to curl up and disappear.  But that’s when I met Ed.  He was our special education teacher.  He was a big jolly man with nice curly hair.  He always had a messy desk, but he had so many great teaching ideas.  He helped us bake bread and muffins to learn about math.  We made cells from Jell-O.  The neatest thing about Ed was that  he had a learning disability too.  He told us that he was picked on when he was a kid.  And everyone told him that he was going to sit at home and not do anything with his life.  But he became a teacher.  And I thought: ‘If I have a learning disability, and Ed has a learning disability, then that means I can be Ed.’”

“One thing I love about New York is that it’s constantly...

“One thing I love about New York is that it’s constantly reminding you that it doesn’t need you.  It’s like riding a wild horse.  I wanted to be an artist, but the only work this city was willing to accept from me was to sit at a table and read tarot cards.  So I did it for twenty years.  I have no ability to predict the future.  I told everyone that beforehand. There’s no invisible hand moving the cards.  There’s no spirit whispering secrets in my ear.  But I do believe in the cards.  I believe in them like you’d believe in a poem.  I believe in their aesthetics.  I worked with French cards.  Very old cards.  Each card was beautiful, but when you arranged them on the table, they would speak to each other.  They’d relate to each other.  They became metaphors.  I’d merely ask each person to look at the cards and describe what they’re seeing.  Everyone brought their own lives to the table.  Their own memories.  Some people left thinking they’d gotten a prediction. Some left thinking they’d gotten advice.  Some left with specific ideas: the title of a song, the conclusion of a novel, I never knew.  Because everyone brought their own needs to the cards.  Just as we bring them to every encounter.  Just as we’d bring them to a poem.”