It was nice seeing one of my oldest friends today. It brought me back to my childhood on the UWS. Walking up 87th Street, seeing the crack dens. I passed the halfway house. Saw the Vietnam Veteran who had TBI and talked to himself. I was told a grenade blew up in front of him. I didn’t know what TBI was when I was seven. I knew that he seemed sad and scared. I used to count crack vials in my elementary school playground because they were colorful. Pizza was its own food group.
Central Park was my backyard and Pepsi was always in the fridge. It was a strange mixture of middle class, rich people, poor people and homeless people. As a child, I didn’t understand any of this. I just knew that I had a red cabinet that mysteriously had food it in. My childhood can’t be replicated today because organic is trendy and people don’t make fun of the peanut butter you can make yourself at the health food store. They think it’s genius instead.
I don’t know where I was going with this except to say that I remember many things, and I don’t know what my children will remember.