Category Archives: Reader Stories
I am from germany and i think…
The museums were a mecca…
The museums were a mecca for truants. It was the only place where you wouldn’t get questioned by security. they always thought you were with a class trip. Meet up with your crew on a cold day, when your funds were low. Truant officers were waiting for you at the cheap action movie theaters on 42nd. Spoof on the art pieces, imagine yourself from far away places. Good fun. The museum of natural history, art, in Manhattan and the one in Brooklyn. Guggenheim (if you could afford it) horticulture gardens, whatever (I can’t remember them all), people always seemed to smile at you when they saw you in those places. I guess they thought it was great that you took an interest in the “finer things in life”. Actually, in spite of myself, I did take a liking to museums for the rest of my life.
Hey Joyce and Mick, …
I am 71 years old and and…
I am 71 years old and and recently realized that my grandchildren don’t know how to play any of the games we played when I was little. I have bought a length of clothesline and, at Christmas, I’m going to take them outside and teach them to jump rope to some of the rhymes from your website. They brought back wonderful memories. Of course, I think I’ll be a “steady-ender” most of the time.
In Fort Greene Projects…
In Fort Greene Projects that all you heard. Especially when dinner time rolled by. There were six in my family but mom only called the first four older ones. the two youngest we had to watch went without saying. so it was like a song, my mom started from the oldest to the youngest, I was third. But it went like this. Sandra, mercedita, Pamela,Perla,come to eat. If i was starving i was already on my way upstairs to get a seat at the table and be the first one served, of course thats because dad was working otherwise he would be first. oh the good old days.
“There’s nothing I can do…
Yeah, I remember dear old…
Yeah, I remember dear old Dad. He loved to play the horses…in fact, he loved to wager on anything. Problem was, he wagered TOO much and it cost him his life. Well, that’s another story for another day and another topic (perhaps, “My Father was a Bookie, what was yours?”). Oh yeah, the story. One late August night, back in 1958, my father took me to a Yankees – Senators game at the stadium. For some reason, unknown to a 5 year old boy, he decided to pay for a taxi as the transportation to and from the Bronx (maybe the car was repossesed? We lived in Forest Hills, Queens). Anyway, I don’t recall too much about the game but I sure as hell recall what happened afterwards. The return taxi was summoned for the trip back home and some where along the line, maybe even towards the end of the game, it started raining…pouring…heavy! The cabbie wheeled the taxi into a gas station in order to refill the tank. I remember the back door opening and the water on the ground rising above my shoes. We raced/splashed/slid into the waiting room whilst the cab was re-fueled. My dad went off to another room…more than likely to use the pay phone to call…yup…his book. So I waited. And waited. The rain as so thick, I could barely see out the window to the gas pumps straight ahead. Still waiting. Finally, an attendant came in and asked me whom I belonged to. “My dad.” I replied. “And he’s in the taxi outside that’s getting gas.” “There’s no taxi out there now,” said the attendant. I think I started crying but I was too traumatized to remember. Still am. Turns out, he left me there…plum forgot about me…probably pre-occupied with his wagering. I find out later, he had gone 3 or 4 blocks before the cabbie asked about his son. Well, they did come back for me so all’s well that ends well, right? Sure it is.
My dad immigrated as a farm…
My dad immigrated as a farm boy from Patillas PR in the early 1920s’ and saw Babe Ruth and Murderers’ row play in Yankee stadium. Dads’ a magnetic and fun personality who could always make us laugh. He’s 87 now still smokes those huge cigars and going strong. He was an ex-boxer and a welterweight along with my uncle who went professional. He boxed “two a days” in three round tournaments for the diamond gloves in ebbetts field and the golden gloves in madison square garden and got his picture in the Daily News more than once. In the Bronx growing up, me and my four brothers tried his patience more than we should have. My Dad never hit us kids and was a strong but gentle spirit who used humor to win you over and just cracked us up..