What’s all this laughter on the 22nd floor?
It’s just some friends of mine and they’re busting down the door…
As a writer, I am always looking for inspiration.
Growing up in Windsor Terrace it’s not hard to find material to write about. And it helps to have other writers to read (both good and bad) to be inspired to write.
Have a look at some outstanding work by our guy Pat Fenton.
Click the link below for a wonderful piece in the Irish Echo on a documentary they are putting together about Pete Hamill and Jimmy Breslin.
Sun is out.
I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand; big hand is pointing to the eleven, little hand to the nine.
Gotta get up.
Gotta get up and go to church.
Every Sunday for the last eight years. Same routine.
Tell you the truth, I’m not excited. Not feeling it.
I wanna sleep some more.
That’s been my thing now; sleeping in.
I can’t get in the schoolyard until mass is over anyway.
Plus I don’t have any money to put in the collection basket. They stick the fucking thing right in front of my face and hold it there. I’m busted bro.
Got no money.
To be honest, I wanna snatch a five dollar bill out of the basket.
My girlfriend went to church last night at 5:30 – I should have gone with her.
She’s always bugging me to go with her and her father.
“Wanna come to five-thirty mass with me and my dad?” She asked me Friday night while we hung out on her stoop.
Nah, instead I spend my time in the schoolyard at that time playing ball.
“GET UP, GOTTA GO TO CHURCH!” My mother screams from her bedroom. It’s right next to mine. We live in a five room, railroad apartment on the corner of Windsor and Ninth.
Why do I gotta get up?
She’s not going to church, neither is my sister or brother, they’re sleeping.
Plus, I’m in high school now, I don’t go to Holy Name anymore. They can’t do anything to me. I hated Monday mornings. if I skipped church, they called me down to the office. How did they know I dipped out?
I ain’t going to church today.
“GET UP!” Mom screams again. She’s relentless.
John Rafferty, 10th avenue’s finest is making things happen.
“I told my wife, ‘I don’t know how to teach my son how to hit a baseball,’” he said. “She said ‘What do you mean by that?’ I just always have. No one ever taught me. You either hit it or you didn’t.”
“She said ‘Every story you tell, there’s never a parent attached to it.’ We had the biggest backyard.”
I slept in today.
All my friends are in school.
I stopped going a few weeks ago. I don’t like it at all. Mom finally stopped breaking my balls. It was getting annoying.
The teachers at school are a pain in my ass.
I don’t like being told what to do.
But I do like gym class. I like the teacher, he’s the football coach.
Oh, forgot to tell you, I go to John Jay high school down on seventh avenue.
I’m 14, a freshman, ninth grade. I do like the way they have it set up though. 9th and 10th graders from from 12:05 to 5:30. Juniors and seniors go in the morning.
I don’t need anyone telling me what to do. I do what I want, okay? They have security guards all over the school. Metal detectors at the door. Someone told me not to go in the bathroom that I’ll get jumped. I went a few times, no one fucked with me.
So leave me alone…I’m a drop-out and I don’t care.
I don’t need school. I’m going to be an ironworker some day. Local 40. My Grandfather can get me a job.
I look out my bedroom window and the sun is out. I like these days. I can walk around the city later today. When it rains or if it’s cold outside, I gotta find someplace indoors.
My girlfriend goes to St. Saviour’s. I miss her. Wish we could hang out today but I have to wait for her to get out of school. I haven’t seen her in two days. We talked on the phone last night but it’s not the same as being with her. Her mother always tells her to get off the phone.
I’m heading down to East 5th street to play some ball.
See ya later!