Reflections

Long before I was tall enough to reach the window sill of the Kingsborough project apartment we lived in in Brooklyn, New York, I stretched to pull myself up to see what I could see out of the window. So much going on outside of our new home. I don’t remember when or how it happened, but suddenly I was able to see things and that awareness of the going and coming of people – children, families sparked my curiosity. Over the course of time I came to know that neighborhood like the back of my hand – all the ins and outs, all the secret places to hide and play. That’s what my sister and I did once school was out in June.  I, more than she, lived to be outside. It was always so exhilarating to be outside, to be in the mix. Sometimes I’d play marbles or skelly (alternatively called skully), sometimes it was punch ball or stick ball. All the little silly games like “red light, green light” and “Simon Says”. If we were lucky, we could get chalk at the corner store and draw a hopscotch board on the ground and play. There was always some way to fill your days then that didn’t cost much money. If someone had a rope we could play double dutch and if someone had rubber bands we could make a Chinese rope and play. Our imagination was the limit. Rainy days brought fun with paper dolls and pick-up sticks and making tents by draping sheets over the card table that was stored in our room.

My favorite; however, was to be outside. I grew to know a lot of people in the neighborhood, children and parents alike. The projects were divided into “walks”.  Mainly I stayed in the 4th walk (that’s where our apartment was), but I could venture out to some of the other walks as well.  Pretty much I felt safest in the 4th walk. There were always lots of children around. I felt well protected. When I was about 9 or 10, my sister and I started making pot holders and got the idea that we could sell them. So we set up a little stand and started selling pot holders to people passing by in the neighborhood. Of course we didn’t charge much – maybe $.25. It was more for the fun of it – just to see if people would buy the things we made. Sometimes we would get special requests for certain colors. We were so proud of ourselves. We would always beg my mother for money to supplement what we made to buy more supplies. As in most neighborhoods, there is always someone to come along and spoil the fun. I’m convinced that there are people designed just to mind other people\’s business. True to form, the day would come that some lady came by and said how we were going to get in trouble because we didn’t have a permit to sell things and she was going to report us. Shortly afterwards my mother made us take down our stand. That was the end of our quest for entrepreneurship.

I wasn’t aware that we were poor. Everybody around us was in pretty much the same condition. Of course there were those who had less than we did and likewise there were those who had a little more. I just knew that we never had a lot of extra things. I had two pairs of shoes – one for everyday and one for church on Sunday.  My mother made all of our clothes. I did start noticing however, that from time to time, there would be people’s furniture and things sitting out on the curb. That’s when I learned about being evicted. My mother explained to me that when people couldn’t pay their rent, they would get “put out”. It became a regular routine where I would see people’s whole apartments out on the street. Oftentimes the mom would be crying and trying to gather up things as the children watched in horror. I always wondered what became of those people. Where did they go? The sad part is that if they left their things unattended people would come by and take whatever they wanted. I always thought that was so cruel. Fortunately we never got “put out”. I remember feeling really badly every time I would see that and right then, at that very young age, I determined in my heart that I would never let my stuff be “put out”.

I had pretty much forgotten about that until the children and I moved to Maryland and lived in an apartment complex. In fact, on our floor there were four apartments and at one time or another everyone of the apartments had an eviction notice on their door – all except ours. The children would stand at the sliding glass door leading out to the balcony and watch the maintenance workers take people’s stuff from the apartment and put it up at the top of the complex entrance. They began to fear that we would be next. Each day upon approaching our door they would look for that “notice” that I told them would appear on the door warning of an impending eviction.  I tried as best I could to reassure them that I wouldn’t let our stuff be put on the street. The four of us came up with a plan as to where we could go if I couldn’t pay the rent. I had to reassure them that we would have plenty of time to get our things before that would happen.

Once again that feeling of dread resurfaced as if I were that little girl from long ago – that feeling of gloom. In my heart I knew that “but for the grace of God, there go I”.  I wasn’t exempted from that happening to me. Sure I had a little part time job but I really was at the mercy of other people. I’ve since then known people who were evicted and I’ve even tried to help in whatever way I could. Life is hard sometimes and there is a thin line between keeping it together and losing it all in an instant. I often wonder how it would have been to grow up differently having an abundance of things; never worrying about the basic necessities of life. I’m sure my parents wanted that for me as I also wanted that for my children; however, I’m not so sure that I would be as compassionate towards those that fall on hard times if I’d never experienced those times of need.  At the time I felt bad about my children seeing those kinds of struggles but it’s because of the culmination of situations like that, that my children have tender hearts and love for people – not  things. I’ve seen them grow to love honestly and purely. They have learned to share and show kindness not only towards each other, but to others as well  in ways that often surprise me.

I’ve come a long way from Brooklyn. No longer do I have to stretch to see out of the window. I look back at the road I’ve traveled and then I look forward to the road laid out before me. Each day I wake up I’m thankful and happy to still be here…..I’m still in it!!!