I saw this essay on Fiore Tierno’s Facebook page. Not sure of the origin/author but I figured everyone here would enjoy it.
I come from a borough called Brooklyn where hoagies are called hero’s, shopping carts are called wagons and roads are called streets. Going on the avenue was a night out and everyone knew someone or you were related somehow.
Your parents sat on the stoop all night while we played manhunt, hide and seek, handball, hopscotch, war, freeze tag, red light, green light and ring-o-leeveo.
Our moms called us from the window to come in and eat; we had block parties that lasted till morning. We ate the best Italian bread, pastries, cookies, and homemade Italian ices.
Mr. Softee, egg creams, pretzel sticks from the candy store and we hung out at the park not the playground.
These were the best of times…