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As a kid I loved Friday night.

When I was 15, I had a blast. Hard to choose; Friday or Saturday as my favorite day of the week?


Slept in.

Went to the schoolyard to play ball.

Ate pizza.

Played some more ball.

Afterwards we hung out on the corner of Windsor and Ninth watching all the people go by. We broke balls. You learned to take it. We broke more balls.

Went home for dinner. Fishcakes and beans.

Showered and went over to Prospect Park. It’s the place we met up. You just knew to go there. If you grew up in the neighborhood, as a teen, it’s where you hung out. Each generation. Parkside. Circle. In the park. The benches. Pick a spot. We spent time there.

At around seven o’clock picked up some booze. Walked back to the park. Always in a brown paper bag, trying to hide it. Little did we know, everyone knew what we had under our arms. LOL

Head over to the bleachers, take a seat and we’re off.

Drink and bullshit. Bullshit and drink.

Music on the radio, come on baby.

There must have been 20 of us. Sometimes more, sometimes less.

You were always welcomed if you were an outsider. If you came from another parish. If you came in peace.

Friends hanging out. Having fun. Not a care in the world. Teacher, leave them kids alone.

No idea what was ahead.

No clue as to what I wanted to do.

Oh wait, I wanted to be an Ironworker. Still had a couple of years to go though.

At around eight or nine you snuggled up with your lady.

Holding hands. Touching. Kissing.

Next you and your girl took a walk.

Either you went behind the bleachers or you walked out to the diamonds.Maybe you walked up to Quaker cemetery?

Time to make-out. Plant that kiss. I had no idea what to do. No one ever taught me how to kiss.

Maybe you chased each other around a little.  All in fun of course.

Pairing off with your girlfriend was my favorite time of the night. Always looked forward to it. I was in love. Puppy love.

Somewhere around eleven, it was time to go.

Saying good-bye to everyone and making that walk to her house.

Holding hands exiting the park. A little buzzed. Walking across ninth avenue, past Farrell’s; men looking at you. “There he goes…”

Hanging a right down Windsor Place.

At a snails pace I might add.

In front of the house, I hated kissing her good-night. I didn’t want her to go. Wanted to be with her all-night. Felt like I may never see her again.

Couldn’t wait for tomorrow…