It's only in retrospect that our trip out to La Guardia airport seems like a colorful adventure. Because at the time, it was just a series of bizarre events in which my parenting skills and obligation to keep my child out of harms way were clearly lacking.  

When I asked our hotel desk clerk the best way to get to the airport, he replied, "by taxi of course." I flashed my Metro day pass and explained that we wanted to go by mass transit. He begrudgingly gave me the subway and bus transfer information. Then added, "Stay together when you get off the subway. It's not the best of neighborhoods, you know..." 

We must have been quite the sight, schlepping our suitcases down the narrow stairwell and through the turnstiles. But once on the subway, things were fine. However, with each stop on the uptown train, there were fewer people in our car. Finally, it was just us and a guy with shabby clothes and sunken eyes, who looked like he hadn't slept in days. He sat directly across from us and then, to our surprise, started an almost lucid conversation about how misunderstood Nathanial Hawthorne was in his day (Lisa was reading "Scarlett Letter").

We hopped off the subway when we got to the Bronx, and were immediately greeted with a subway preacher, loudly warning us - in English and Spanish - that the Virgin Mary was in fact the devil, and chastising Catholic Mexicans for worshipping her.  

Anxious to get away, we hopped in an elevator with two people who were clearly under the influence of something other than the Virgin Mary.  They argued all the way up to the street level about whether the city bus Lisa and I were planning to take was even running that day, and what our alternatives might be. (At this point, the taxi seemed like a very good idea...) 

Thankfully, that bus was running and pulled up to the stop just as we arrived. For the first couple of blocks, an elderly woman screamed at the driver about his poor manners and warned him that another 9-11 would be headed his way. Then, the mood changed as a young man announced that his mother had died that morning of lung cancer at age 54. Several of the passengers stood to hug him, and an impromptu wake took place as the M60 bus made its way through the streets of Queens. 

I wanted this trip to be memorable for Lisa. I just hope this isn't the only memory that sticks...