Christmas Donuts   

       Visiting NYC in December is a joyful multicultural experience. When I visit my son in December, I am immersed in city life. He lives in Brooklyn, and my holiday trip is an international adventure. What do I enjoy the most? I love the cultural diversity. Last year when I took an Uber from the airport a nice young man from Pakistan told me about his grandmother who will not live here because of the winter weather. We chatted about life in different U.S. states, his college plans and that he grew up in the Coney Island neighborhood. Driving for Uber is temporary, maybe one day he’ll move.

     My son lived in the Orthodox Jewish neighborhood. I have always liked seeing people who are true to their beliefs. Often that involves dressing alike but nevertheless, it is impressive. In the Orthodox neighborhood the men wear white shirts and black pants. They wear black hats. My son is very practical; when I told him that I like the way his Orthodox neighbors dress, his response was, “God doesn’t want us to wear uncomfortable clothing.”

      The Orthodox neighborhood is just a few blocks and an easy walk to an Asian neighborhood, home of The Happy Dragon preschool. Could there be a cuter name? If I go in the opposite direction, I am in the Russian neighborhood. I like to go to the park because people from all the surrounding communities are there. It’s true, I stare. My three-year-old granddaughter likes to stare, so we stare together.

       I have one problem when I visit Brooklyn. I am not used to apartment style living. To remedy my ‘get me out of this box’ feeling, I take frequent walks. I like to have a destination, so I search for a drug store to buy a bottle of shampoo. This could take a long time. After announcing my plan and that I am going for yes, another walk, I am given elaborate turn left, then turn right at the light, directions. I process none of it and set out on my pilgrimage. At last, I spot a tiny independent drug store on the corner. It is a small pharmacy owned and operated by the pharmacist with crowded shelves packed with shower caps, blenders and one small row of shampoo. A woman, perhaps the pharmacist’s wife is at the cash register. I am told that I need to make a $10 purchase if I want to use my debit card. Behind me, a respectable looking man says, “Put it with my order.” I manage a weak, “Thank you” and “Merry Christmas.” I am not in the neighborhood that celebrates Christmas, but my intentions are right.

       Now I hurry because I am due to meet my son for coffee at a donut shop and it is the ‘Two for One’ special day. I got there first and had time to - you guessed it - stare. The donut line had Orthodox moms, Muslim women, young men in suits, a spattering of elderly women and Black men from the Islands with Bahamian accents. After two cups of coffee, I came up with a plan for world peace.  Sugar and caffeine. The maple donuts and Holiday flavored coffees were delicious and being enjoyed by everyone. There was no violence. No hatred. I decided to call my plan Donuts for Peace and I am sure it will work.

       My son arrived and I asked him why ethnic groups from opposing countries choose to live in neighborhoods that are next to each other. He was quick to answer but I need to preface his response by saying that in our family food reigns supreme. He carefully explained that Israelis, Russians, and Moslems all want to see olives and veggies when they go to the market and not corned beef or spaghetti. They would not be happy living next to the Irish or Italian neighborhoods. Oh. That makes sense. Encouraged by the now open platform for gastronomic politics, I confidently shared my Donuts for Peace plan. The response? Silence and a ‘Mom that’s nuts’ look. I smiled. I was on my third holiday donut and overflowing with latte love.