The Big Apple in Red

There's something about 80's rock 'n roll that can get anyone feeling nostalgic. As Jouney's "Don't Stop Believing" plays in the distance, sudden feelings of affection grow in me as I remember the "old New York"; $2.25 metro card fare and salted pretzels in Central Park. But the opening lyrics couldn't be further from anything in my memory bank. Growing up in the heart of Manhattan is about the furthest thing from a small-town girl that one can imagine. With Lincoln Center just a frisbee throw away, boredom is hard to achieve and novelty is just a classroom away.

September 2008, I prepare for my first day of the 7th grade. My class is welcomed by a youthful and svelt blonde in a Ralph Lauren button-up and ankle-length pants. "My name is Ms. O'shay." she informed us, as she'd never taught in our school before, "I'm so excited! This is going to be an amazing year!" As the weeks went by, Ms. O'shay wasted no time getting comfortable with the class. I can't recall what subject she was meant to teach because the class had an anything-goes culture. Ms. O'shay was very invested in fashion and was newly engaged to a well-to-do man in finance. She would take time during class hours to shop for her wedding looks and post-wedding wardrobe, typically outfits inspired by Gossip Girl, the new "it" show. She'd share the screen of her laptop and put her web browser on the projector for the class to help her select items from brands like Burberry and Kate Spade. Brands that many of us had no clue about. With the majority of the class unimpressed and enjoying their time away from real scholastics, I was hyper-focused and engaged by every tab. But this was short-lived.

October 2008, only a month into the school year, the stock market crashed. Wall Street, a short 7 stops on the 3 train from my home, was practically up in flames. The parents of my classmates and family friends would soon be unemployed. The domino effects of predatory bank loans and a housing market swelled with listings nobody could buy, the economy was in the red. Manhattan would have droves of white-collared adults packing their careers into boxes before 5pm hit. Bankruptcy was on the lips of every reporter from NY1 to Brookyn News12 and CNN. Somehow, the state of affairs never reached my tweenage ears. There was no announcement at school or classmates with long faces, not even light attendance from my peers or school staff. Seventeen years later, I look back and see the truth of TobyMac's famous words, "A child's shoulders were not built to bear the weight of their parent's choices." My classmates and I were blissfully unaware of the ways our lives would be changing.

As a student, things were business as usual... for the most part.

Ms. O'shay's shopping-spree class sessions came to a quick end, and she shared about her wedding plans being pushed back. I'm not sure if she returned anything she'd bought at the start of the semester, but I did know she was cleaning out her closet. As one of the only students invested in what she was "teaching", Ms.O'shay took a liking to me. One day, she called me into the office and gave me a bag of clothes and shoes. In it was my soon-to-be favorite fuchsia, fur-lined, vest and a pair of matching patent leather loafers. It was the first time I was happy to be 5'7" with a size nine shoe at only twelve years old. A few of my friends shared that she'd given them some of her accessories, like the iconic J. Crew Bubble necklace that was adorned by both tradwives and young career women of that time. Ms.O'shay encouraged me to stay invested in fashion and to never stop writing. The two passions combined could land me in Teen Vogue or interning at Elle Magazine. Her impact took the lid off the box of what I knew I could grow and become. 2008 was the start of a bright new world.

In fact, it would be a whole new world, for more than just middle schoolers reaching the age of nail polish privileges. The New York Stock Market crash and the simultaneous fall of the U.S. economy affected the entire world. The blood of the U.S. was spread across foreign waters. But for families like mine, foreign waters were still more prosperous than the dried-up wells in the land of opportunity. Before the end of the school year, I'd be on a plane to Johannesburg to live in my parent's home country. Like millions of other families, we needed to find solace and new ground to stand on both feet. Displacement and relocation was happening country-wide, with large families like mine moving across state lines if they didn't have the option to leave the country. Some families never truly recovered even though many of the high-flying culprits of this disaster walked away rich, with only a bruised ego to mourn.

When the most important city in the world is hit at its core, there's no surprise that its shrieks would cause wincing across the globe. It is, however, interesting, and even beautiful to think about how much joy can come out of an event that caused the world to stop. For anyone young enough to have the privilege of naivety during the 2008 Recession, the involuntary moving of homes and schools was another part of their colorful childhood. And with parents and educators who shielded our minds from the burden of macroeconomics brought on too soon, we could dream and experiment in a time when our keepers were scrambling for solutions. It's interesting how playing with bubbles is such an exciting kids game. Watching them swell and float out of our control, sparkling and shining under light, until they pop at the slightest touch. I loved this game for as long as I could remember. I remember closing my eyes, to keep them safe from whatever that bubble was made of- if I was close enough for it to pop in my face. So it was with the irresponsible finance professionals; the bankers, the credit default swappers, and the suits and ties of the stock exchange. Watching the housing bubble float outside of their control and bracing themselves for the pop. Thankfully, the resilience of those impacted created a foundation for the next generation. With hope undeferred, kids of all ages were let on to dream about running for president, landing a touchdown, or writing for fashion magazines. The Big Apple, shaken to its core, still hand seeds for planting that would bear fruit for the entire world to share.