An Open Letter to Gymboree

Dear Gymboree,



Since my son was 8 weeks old, I have been visiting your fine establishment, singing the bubble song and the clean up song and the hello-everybody-song. Both my son and I have been brainwashed by Gymbo, the happy mascot clown, and we gleefully purchase your special bubbles, adorable clothes, and chant the giddy mantras about various verbs all the way home. Heck, you even got me to attend a mommy yoga class. Now that's dedication on my end.



When we moved to NY, I was concerned about finding a Gymboree location that wouldn't cost the same as a college tuition, and behold, we found one mere blocks from our humble abode. I knew you wouldn't fail me! Off I go to locate the address, only to find myself driving up and down the same block over and over again. Finally I realize that Gymboree of Dyker Heights/Bay Ridge is located on the 2nd floor of the Knights of Columbus building. Interesting choice. How come you don't list that on your website? I think I'm about to answer that!



My only knowledge of the Knights of Columbus revolves around pancake breakfasts and Catholics playing bingo. Seriously, I had no idea what the place was except that it was a Catholic organization, mainly frequented by old folks. Well, that's probably how it is in "normal America". Friendly Catholics winning cash and serving up pancakes on Sunday mornings. Yum. In Brooklyn, not so much. I kid you not....it's a front for organized crime. The ratio of toddlers to mafia hitmen is probably 3-1 on any given Monday when we attend our class. In the parking lot lurks a man wearing a skull cap and dark jacket. He could easily be a sanitation worker, however his primary job seems to be smoking and monitoring the collection of black towncars and caddy's that park in the area next to the minivans and SUV's driven by Gymboree parents. As I enter the main entrance (located under the neon sign flashing the name of the local arch bishop), I can hear the blissful sounds of Gymbo blasting over the stereo, but before I can enter Happyland, I must first pass through the shrine to all Catholic community members since the dawn of time. Pictures of the local archdiocese posing with local mafia leaders adorn the walls. Statues, plaques, crucifixes and other memorabilia fill an entire wall encased in glass and surrounded by mirrors. There is a man, who looks exactly like George Burns without a shave, cigar included, is sitting in a glass-walled office just off the lobby. He winks at my son in that "don't worry, we don't take toddlers to swim with the fishes" kind of way. From a conference room to my right I can hear a wide variety of racial slurs being slung about, mostly between Irish and Italians. It appears they are playing dominoes, but then again, they could be hacking up a body. Who knows.



As I make my way to the stair case, one step closer to feeling less likely to die in a driveby shooting, I see a poster advertising the funeral of "Tony Bananas" at the Scarpacci Funeral Home. Tony Bananas? I assure you, Gymboree, Tony Bananas is not a mascot in competition for Gymbo's spot. Tony Bananas. Dear God.



Finally we get to Gymboree. Children are dancing around, singing songs about sharing and butterflies and choo choo trains. They are walking on balance beams and bouncing on the "air log" and climbing through hoops and down slides. All happening just one floor above a mass gathering of the Archie Bunker fan club/mafia hitmen domino club of America meeting one floor below. Not surprising, the room is encased in mirrors and insanely tacky Italian decor. We're talking gold and brass and crystals. It's a ballroom apparently. Gymboree...you rent a ballroom from the KoC? Hmmmm. So this is what a mafia wedding would look like if everyone showed up in Pampers. The windows are placed oddly high...it's impossible for even the tallest member of the mafia to see out. I think this is to prevent drive by assassination attempts, but that's just me romanticizing the situation. Perhaps what is most disconcerting is the bar located in the room. It's not a little bar. It's a fully stocked, premium top shelf bar. Behind a giant cage door, but still. My kid is bouncing on the air log and asking what that green stuff is in the bottle. I'd like to tell him it's Midori Sour, but my gut is telling me it has something to do with the "operation" downstairs.



So, Gymboree, we are parting ways. We attended for a while and I began to find humor in greeting Donny Brasco and John Gotti on my way to watch my son dance around with other kids, but the place just gives me the creeps.....and my son would rather run wildly around the room than participate in group activities these days. Perhaps one day we shall meet again under different, less intimidating circumstances. I'll miss that funny clown.



Double Hugs, Double Kiss,

L.