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Between the spring of 2012 and summer 2013, I lived in 3 different nYc neighborhoods spanning two of nYc’s five boroughs.

My third and final apartment was actually a room in a woman’s house in Jamaica, Queens.  Despite the tightness of the accommodations, I’d only be living there for two months, so I was certain it was survivable. Plus, the room was furnished with a bed, dresser, desk… and the “son-I-never-knew”.

His name is Jacob.

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A 12-year-old with an absentee mother and incarcerated father is quick to bond with anyone who gives him attention, as I quickly discovered.

When I arrived in May, the school year was winding down, so Jacob’s hours of daily supervision was waning in parallel. Jacob was a mildly delinquent kid to begin with and his mother did not allow him to participate in any after-school activities, thus creating the perfect storm for me to become Jacob’s de facto guardian.

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Over the course of May and June, Jacob became my shadow… and a constant reminder of why I use condoms. Nearly 33 years old myself, Jacob easily could have been one of my own offspring.

In May, I was completing my Surgery Clerkship, which required me to leave home at 4:30A and found me returning home at 7P on a good day. Jacob would always be waiting for me. On some days, he would hide behind the front door so that when I would slog through it he could pop out and cause my heart to skip a beat. Each time this happened I imagined that skipped beat to be what it must be like to unexpectedly have a woman tell you she’s pregnant.

 

 

He would laugh and smile, which despite the soul-crushing daily commute and exposure to hubris-filled surgeons, would cause me to smile in turn.

The part of the house where he and his mother resided was separated from the upstairs rooms, so he would follow me up the stairway and ask what I was up to. Still clad in my scrubs, I would look at him and shake my head. “Give me 5 minutes, then we can hang out.”

He would dart back downstairs only to return 4 minutes later with a rap on my door.

Most nights would revolve around hanging out in my room, where he could watch Netflix on my phone or computer. Not wanting to have my medical career derailed by some scandal, I would allow him to inflate my air mattress on the floor, which propped open the door to my room, and watch some crazy shows.

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Typically I would inform him at 9PM that I needed to sleep because of my early morning, but I knew it would take him 30 minutes to finish up whatever he was watching, so I was never upset when he would simply nod his head and keep on chuckling along with whatever he was watching.

On Saturday mornings I would awaken at 7AM to a dull thud on my door. If I hadn’t been regularly awakening at 4AM I might have shot out of bed, swung the door wildly open, and screamed “What the hell, man!” But each time I would calmly put on some clothes, slowly unlock the door, and smile when I opened it to see him standing there, eyes barely open, hair a wild mess, and hear him mutter, “I’m bored.”

I’d reply, “No, I think you are still asleep.”

 

 

If Jacob couldn’t find a friend to shoot hoops with, he would beg me to go with him. The first time I obliged, I ended up playing two-on-one basketball with another him and another kid and narrowly avoided having to retire from the game I love by blowing a 11-0 lead only to hang on to win 21-19. I also pulled one of my glutes going for a block.

When he needed a snack, he would ask if he could eat something of mine from the fridge… after he’d already eaten it.

If he felt like scaring the shit out of me, he’d sneak out the second story window in the kitchen, climb on the roof to the window that was outside my room and beside my bed… and bang on it like a wildebeest.

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During the first two weeks of June, I was in Boston, but would receive a daily text message from Jacob. It usually said something like, “Poop.” Or to ask if he could eat something of mine, which surely had already been eaten.

A few of the highlights of having a 12-year-old pseudo-son:

1) Being asked what sex is like… while walking to shoot hoops… And quickly realizing this was a lose-lose question.

2) Allowing him to pick a place and time to go see the latest Superman movie… and having the time be wrong and paying $15 for a ticket because he didn’t bring his money.

3) Playing catch with him in Central Park… and then having it abruptly end when he tossed a baseball over my head and it nearly concussed a group of innocent bystanders.

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4) Trying to get him to stop kicking a large bouncy ball down the aisles of a CVS.

5) Having him try to jump in the Central Park Pond to catch a turtle.

Despite the innumerable incredible experiences I had in nYc, this unexpected friendship/guardianship ended up being one of the most cherished. Perhaps one day I’ll have a real son of my own. Perhaps I’ll teach him about the birds and the bees while shooting hoops. Perhaps I’ll play catch with him in Central Park. But most certainly, I won’t forget the time I did it all before with Jacob.