Radio City Music Hall

We took our son to participate in the New York tradition of seeing the Rockettes' holiday extravaganza. My husband, who had never seen the show, bought tickets as much for our son as for me. My own parents used to take me to see the shows at Radio City Music Hall when I was a child as part of our monthly sojourn to the city from suburban Philadelphia. I have no real memories of the shows themselves, but just the sense of wonder, magic, and awe these trips inspired in me as a young child. So, we shuttled into a cab to take us the short distance to Radio City. The streets are already brimming with tourists and people, flocking to the city for shopping and all these traditions that make New York the real capital of our country.

Our son's cries of awe upon seeing the Christmas tree dangling from the ceiling, bedecked in crystals, was validation enough for us to endure crowds of people from New Jersey, Connecticut, and other far flung places. People posed their kids, dressed in holiday attire, in front of the wooden nutcrackers, hoping for that holiday photo to send as their holiday cards to family and friends. Since this is America, there were kiosks on every level selling Rockette dolls and t-shirts. And a bar for the adults where an eggnog martini arrived with a stirrer that lit up in the dark. On one hand the whole experience was kitsch in its truest form. And were it not for our son, I would have found it all a bit too much.

But they say one must have a child to re-experience life again. And how true that is. Christmas after the age of 16 feels less magical and more a time for families to torture one another, so that each holiday season's arrival is met with a certain dread by all. That is until you have a child. The cynicism and dread are replaced by the more pure emotions of hope, expectation, and magic--all that the holidays are supposed to be if we weren't so tired, cranky, and full of disappointment. Our son found the show magical, even with the incessant questions he asked during the entire hour long production. For me, when Santa made us put on the 3-d glasses to go on his sleigh through New York, my ears welled up. Again, it's hard to believe we are here, not as visitors but as residents.

Both my husband and I have such moments of incredulity as we go about our life here now. We went to see a movie at the Angelika theater in Soho, stopping for a cup of tea before our dinner date with friends. As we sat by the window, nursing the hot drink, each of us admitted how surreal this is, still.

So, we sat and watched this show that is as much propaganda about this holiday as it is about New York city. I held my disbelief and critical theorist hat in check, soaking up our son's bewilderment and awe of this spectacle. After the final 'Joy to the World' we rushed from the theater, trying to dodge the crush of people. We stopped to get a hot pretzel on the street before hailing a cab ride home.