A POUND OF FLESH, A POUND OF GUMMY WORMS

A DAY AT THE DELACORTE

It's that time of year again here in NYC. Sidewalks are baking and A/Cs are on full-blast. So far, this has been the hottest summer on record, and we're all whining about the weather. Especially those who've been queuing up in Central Park before dawn for free tickets to see Al Pacino as Shylock in the "Merchant of Venice."

But that wasn't the case for us last Thursday. My son Max and I, along with his buddy Milo and Mom, Alex, drag ourselves out of bed at 4am, grab breakfast and reading materials, and cab it to Central Park before dawn, beginning what will be an eight-hour stretch, the equivalent of a standard work day. The waiting is effortless, in a lush, glorious setting where your only assignment is to chat, read, play a game of Charades, draw, drink coffee, eat lunch, post your photos on Facebook - anything to pass the time in a line one is not allowed to leave (but for visits to the restroom and snack bar.)

By 1:30pm, we score eight tickets, two each, leaving us free agents until just before the 8pm showtime. Almost everyone in our families will welcome us weary souls back home with love and appreciation for our incredibly selfless sacrifice. The one ticket holder, however, who does not appreciate this coveted prize, this golden opportunity, would be young Julian.

Once I tell Julian how long the performance will last, he is horrified.

"Hey, that's Shakespeare, Kiddo," I tell him.

Act I: Between the occasional spurts of interest, Julian rolls his eyes and shows me his fist, while Max, who can't keep his eyes open, is fast asleep on my shoulder. Feeling guilty for denying Julian candy to keep him entertained, (OK, I'll say it, to 'keep him happy,') I promise him we'll get something at intermission. There's not much other than Gummy Worms. He has something heartier in mind, but this will have to do.

Act II: "Mom, how long is this act?" Julian whispers.
"About 45 minutes to an hour," I whisper back.

Julian slaps his hand to his forehead, and looks skyward.

"Oh My God, I'm going to kill myself," he whines. "You owe me," he whispers with indignation.

Once Julian settles in with his tub of Gummies, I begin to explain that Shylock is intent on collecting his bond for his 3,000-ducat unpaid loan to Antonio: a pound of flesh.

"I wish he would just take a pound of flesh from my head," Julian snaps.

Never too soon to start them on Shakespeare, I always say...