New Books
Standing on the train, I notice that people reading books are still in the first chapters. A man in his 20’s wearing and leather jacket and carrying a military issue messenger bag has just begun “Rookie Dad.” The thirty-something Asian woman next to him , with her black roots creeping into her purple hair had just started “Reposition Yourself.” I’ll admit, at times, I’ve begun books on the train, but maybe that’s all that passengers have the time and patience for; to read the first chapter, then skin the rest, and then done, book read. Glean as much information needed to regurgitate back during regular conversations in the midst of uncomfortable situations, those ones that occur with people who have no kids and toys to distract.I had to stand until Queens Plaza. Before then, I watched tourist families board, with children born in towns chartered by pure innocence, taking up seats that tired and hungry workers gave up so that their mothers wouldn’t need to worry, that their fathers could take a moment to stray their gaze away from their offspring for the moment, but mostly to deter the little ones from yelping and flailing about. These were former rookie dads, these were women who repositioned themselves as mothers.
