Sometimes a moment lingers and the memory it produces is like a snapshot.

The B train runs from Brighton Beach to Bedford Park in the Bronx. An apt name for sure.

It is an afternoon of the holiday season and many families are en route to see the celebrated tree at Rockefeller Center. Two women, with six kids in tow, enter the subway car. The oldest is around seven years of age and all are rambunctious. Their exuberant screaming, shouting, laughing, and running about continues despite the mothers’ attempt to quiet them. It is a distracting, cacophonous yet amusing alternative to whac-a-mole.

A little distance away there is a well dressed older woman and her granddaughter of roughly seven too. They are engaged in quiet conversation and by the glances over and shakes of the head, it is clear that the grandmother is displeased with the decorum, or lack thereof, on display. She appears confident that her sentiments are shared by the young girl, who is sitting upright, speaking softly and in every way an emblem of pride for her grandmother. But by the look in the young girl’s eyes one only sees envy and awe at the boundless and unrestrained fun before her.