Dogwood flowers shone in the sun, cherry blossoms loomed overhead, and Cade and I were ushered in the gates of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden ahead of the throngs of people not affiliated with a certain investment banking firm. It was the boy’s moment. Sure, the corporate climate is umm, partly-cloudy with a high chance of tedium, but Cade has free access to most museums in Manhattan and many cool events around the city. And I get to be his invited guest. Yippee!
We arrived later than I’d hoped, because the MTA was exerting its typical weekend trip-wrecking force. The Q was out of service, so Cade and I had to take the N into Brooklyn and then ride a shuttle to Prospect Park. The commute was entirely too long, crowded, and un-air conditioned.
At last we got to cut in line, like the VIPs we know we should be, to take in the beautiful Cherry Blossom Festival. We missed the traditional Japanese dances and performances, but hopped streams, smelled Japanese snowballs, and climbed trees. If I’m in Brooklyn someday and have a hyperactive child, I think I’ll somehow install a GPS chip in the kid’s body and just drop him or her off at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden for a few hours. It’s spacious and scenic - the kind of place that makes the stuffiest adults want to place hide and seek and tuck stray flowers behind their ears.
I know, because I guess I’m one of them…or pretending to be.
