I am four year-old New Yorker. After living here four years, I have made assorted forward leaps in my development, and I am finally starting to get the hang of this city. Much like a pre-school student, the lessons have been basic, but all vital to my existence and my ability thrive within the city limits.

I learned to ride my bike. In traffic. Most everyone as an adult has at one time or another learned to ride a bike, or at least understands the basic principle of the motions. I rode a bike in the suburbs of Detroit growing up, and through campus at Colorado State University. I purchased a bike in the city last fall from a guy on craigslist on the UES and went through the distinct pleasure of learning how to ride all over again. Taxis, double-parked cars, deliverymen on bikes, people opening doors, walking out into the street, it is a veritable obstacle course every time you set your tires on the pavement.

When first learning to ride a bike, falling off is the hardest part of the lesson. Heighten this sensation in the city by taking a cab door to the knuckles. I got to learn how to fall off of my bike during rush hour when someone opened a cab door into the traffic lane I was in and I took the brunt of the force right in the hand. I learned two valuable lessons upon impact. The first is that accidents do happen, and many times, they hurt. The second is that, life isn’t always fair, and people are not always nice, so when the man who opened the door into me grunted and stepped over me to walk away, I had to understand that sometimes in this world there are heartless jerks.

I learned my ABC’s. Always Bring Cash. While New York is one of the financial capitols of the free world, many of the hippest, smallest and most foreign places will not take cash. Ignoring this principle again and again, I have found myself more than once in search of a bodega ATM in order to pay for dinner, or a haircut, only to be charged a fee. Once you learn how to spell in this city, you learn that fee is a dirty word, along with surcharge, rate and taxes.

The lesson of always having cash at hand was driven home during the blackout of 2003. I missed out on one great party as someone dependent on the windows of all establishments to display the MasterCard logo. Every darkened restaurant stayed opened to empty their warming kegs, cook their spoiling food and bake their rising pizza dough. While everyone walked home along the crowded streets, those with cash got to enjoy the goods. I got to sit in my dark apartment and eat dry cheerios.

I learned all about colors here in the city. New York City’s colors are orange and blue. They can be found on our city flag, and are the colors of the New York City Marathon. In fact, the New York Road Runners have patented the color ‘Marathon Blue” in honor of the line painted in the middle of the road along the entire course each year.

I learned that after following it twice as a runner in the legendary race. New York City politicians and businessmen are all about building more green space and green buildings, allowing for a better environment, and eventually, more green for their pockets. New York University’s colors are violet and white, Columbia University’s colors are blue and white, and the village is covered in rainbows, especially during the last week in June. Spanish Harlem is covered largely in red, white and blue, the colors of the Puerto Rican flag. Little Italy is covered in red, white and green and Chinatown has lots of red, a color symbolizing good fortune.

There are all sorts of shapes around New York. There is a cone that is the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree, the ball that drops in Times Square each New Year’s Eve, the spiral of the Guggenheim, the circle of the Wonder Wheel in Coney Island and the Squares of Madison, Union, Washington and others.

There are the numerous rectangular high rises of mid-town, and those that stand out which have no actual shapes, only styles to be defined by. There are of course shapes that only New Yorkers recognize, like the light on the top of a yellow cab from a quarter mile away, or the Mr. Softee truck, with its boxy angles, and the jingle that gets stuck in your head from April through November.

I learned some manners, as any good four year-old should when living in the city. I learned to say, “pardon me” for anything; from sneezing in public, to bumping into someone on the subway, to standing in line at the grocery store. I learned not to stare. Like when an autistic man sat next to me on the subway and started cursing at me and swinging within inches of my face, I knew not to give it a second glance. I learned to say thank you for everything. I know to say “Gracias Papi” to the old Latino men who compliment me as I walk by in a skirt, “Thank you for joining us” to the people who come into the restaurant where I work and “thanks a million” to my landlord who lets me hand in my rent check late.

I learned that sign language can be spoken in jive, and that a simple smile can turn a threatening situation into a welcoming one. Most of all, as a four year-old New Yorker, I learned to share. I share my 400 square foot apartment with a roommate and a turtle and a refrigerator that has not been cleaned in weeks. I share a slice of pizza or a half-sandwich with a homeless person when I can, and a laugh with someone who needs a lift. Four years of development and I have finally mastered the basics. I think after all this time I can go ahead and join the savvy Kindergartners.