Friday, March 1

We Found Our Son in the Subway

What a touching story

The story of how Danny and I were married last July in a Manhattan courtroom, with our son, Kevin, beside us, began 12 years earlier, in a dark, damp subway station.

Danny called me that day, frantic. “I found a baby!” he shouted. “I called 911, but I don’t think they believed me. No one’s coming. I don’t want to leave the baby alone. Get down here and flag down a police car or something.” By nature Danny is a remarkably calm person, so when I felt his heart pounding through the phone line, I knew I had to run.

When I got to the A/C/E subway exit on Eighth Avenue, Danny was still there, waiting for help to arrive. The baby, who had been left on the ground in a corner behind the turnstiles, was light-brown skinned and quiet, probably about a day old, wrapped in an oversize black sweatshirt.

While having a bit of dust in my eyes, i started laughing as well as I remembered what Ma and Baba did to me.

I used to hate bathing when I was very young, they told me that they found me a bucket of shit on the wayside. And then Baba put a hanky over his nose and put it in the front of the scooter and drove it home. Then they cleaned me up but its difficult to get rid of the smell so they would keep on giving me a bath. (by this time, I am usually howling). And that’s why I need to shower/take a bath…so sniffling and howling, i would be dragged off to the bathroom and then my Ayah would scrub few millimetres of skin off my body. Parents are evil, I tell you.

I really believed that I was found in a bucket of shit for a very long period of time. Man o Man…im so stupid..

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