It’s a Long Way From Gotham to Huntville

Last year at this time, the Eyegang was in New York City celebrating a 20th wedding anniversary with a family vacation. This year, things are more down to earth–hanging out with my little sis and her family in the roaring metropolis of Ozark, Alabama, the “Best Kept Secret” in the South. It’s a long way from Gotham to LA (Lower Alabama), but we expect the fun, fellowship and food (barbeque and shrimp boil are on the menu) to be every bit as satisfying.

While in New York City we walked till our little dogs howled for mercy trying to take in as much as we could in our 4 days–Ground Zero, The Statue of Liberty, baseball at Yankee Stadium, a Broadway play, etc. We were a long way from Huntsville, and at times it seemed like we were on a different planet. But wherever we went, Alabama followed closely behind.

One time we were walking down Madison Avenue when we spotted a couple of young women wearing Auburn University sweatshirts. Had we been Auburn people, we would have hailed them with the traditional greeting, “War Eagle!” But we are not Auburn people, and the temptation was simply too great. “Roll Tide,” we yelled as they passed. They turned, stunned at first, but then collapsed into laughter and threw out a few “War Eagles” of their own.

On another occasion we were riding the ferry back from Yankee Stadium when Number One son, who was wearing his Grissom High soccer sweatshirt, was approached by a young, twentysomething man. He was wearing a Yankees cap and toting the ubiquitous backpack and all the while eyeing the tiger on the front of Number One’s shirt.

He asked, “Do you go to Grissom?”

When Number One replied in the affirmative, the young man went on to explain that he had grown up in Huntsville and played soccer at Huntsville High and was now living and working in New York. Another day, another pleasant encounter with an archrival from back home.

But the incident that stands out the most took place after we had disembarked from the Staten Island Ferry and were making our way out of Battery Park toward Ground Zero and St. Paul’s Chapel, that small church that could, and did, serve as a haven for rescue workers in those dark days following 9/11. We had just been talking about Suzanne, our friend from Huntsville and interior design student at Auburn who had just moved to New York for a summer internship. We were wondering how an Alabama girl was adjusting to life in the big city and hoping that she was ok and wasn’t too lonely.

As we turned a corner, suddenly a voice called out to us. We looked over and who did we behold but none other than Suzanne (on the right in the picture next to Eyegal)! In a city of 8 million people, we had stumbled upon the one person whom we knew by name. We marveled at the “coincidence,” and Suzanne pulled out her cell phone and called her mom in Huntsville with the good news. Suzanne was obviously adjusting to life in the big city quite nicely, thank you very much, and as we parted ways it seemed that our encounter had been meant to be.

Later than evening, we were emerging from a subway station in Times Square after watching the uproariously funny “Blue Man Group,” when, once again, we ran into Suzanne, this time accompanied by a young man, a friend from Auburn who lived in New Jersey.

Chance encounter or divine providence? Proverbs 16:9 reads “In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.” We believe that for reasons known only to Him, God guided our steps through the streets of New York that day, and that those fleeting moments with an old friend, surrounded by a sea of 8 million strangers, will echo into eternity. The map says that it’s a long way from Gotham to Huntsville. Perhaps the road is shorter than we think.

Wherever you go this holiday weekend, go with God. Perhaps you too will find God leading your steps toward pleasant places, old friends and memories which will last forever.

—————————————————–
Update 5/27: My family reminded me yesterday that I left out another Twilight Zone moment in NYC. How could I have forgotten this?

On our third day in the city, we emerged from the subway and started walking through Chinatown–it was very apparent that we weren’t in Huntsville anymore, Toto.

As we made our way through the shoulder-to-shoulder shoppers, we were serenaded by what seemed to be a thousand different tongues all singing the same song–“Rolex, Rolex, Rolex!” Obviously, they don’t call it Chinatown for nothing, but as we paused in front of a bin of “Louis Vuitton” purses, we noticed that a tall, African American vendor was standing in the middle of the sidewalk watching us intently. We moved on, but as we passed him, we heard a familiar refrain.

“Roll Tide, Roll,” he called out.

We stopped in our tracks and looked at each other, checking for any sign of clothing which might have given away our origins. When we realized that we weren’t wearing a stitch of Alabama apparel, we then considered the worst case scenario: we looked like bumpkins. Try as we might, we just couldn’t pull off that “fahgettaboutit” New York fashion look, and we knew it. Apparently, so did he. We just had to know how he made us, so we turned and approached him.

“How did you know?” Eyegal asked.

The man pointed toward Number Two son’s reddish-gray New Balance shoes. “I grew up in Georgia, but spent a lot of time in Alabama. It was the red dirt,” he chuckled.