The Courtyard

One day I hope to write a book, about what well my first thought would be about my life, the place I grew up and the people I have met. Not really an autobiography but something along the lines of fiction based on fact. Now when will I ever find the time, resources to do this, haven't really thought about that yet, this right now is a thought in my mind! I do from time to time find myself at my computer may it be at work or at home and something comes to mind and I start to write. Most of what I write never gets seen by anyone just stays in a file for me to enjoy but lately I feel a little adventurous and though I find it easy to share and write to you all about my kids, my husband and my crazy little world I created when it comes to the things I write for myself its a bit harder to share. So a few weeks ago I gave myself a writing assignment like I use to get when I was in English class to write about something in my childhood that held great significance this was an actual assignment when I was in school so why not try it as an adult and here is the outcome:

The Block

 “The block”, the corner on a 151^st and Morris Avenue,  maybe it was the style of the building the uniqueness of having three buildings that had a courtyard in the middle, made us feel like nothing really matter outside that courtyard, this was our world. The courtyard was the epicenter for all things in my childhood. No matter how things were upstairs you could always run down and hang with your friends  on the benches and like all the building were connected, parents had no problem letting their kids go back and forth between houses, everyone knew everyone, everyone looked out for each other. The block was in its own little capsule, you repped your block, you stuck up for those who came from their and lived there. We all shared a common thread in our little existence, growing up in the South Bronx because we came from 151^st and Morris Ave. As you rang the bell or put your key in those first double doors, past the guard that swore he or she was a cop, past the group of ladies checking their mail at the mailboxes, past the next set of double doors was a world with in itself. The breeze that hit you as the door opened, the smell of fresh cut grass and car fumes from the parking lot. The mixture of voices and accents, the different types of music blaring from windows, mothers calling their kids up to eat, secret lovers making their way to the back staircases, it was and forever will be a time capsule for all childhood memories  . We did not become who we are for it not have been what we went through in the courtyard. Once you lived there, once you were part of its daily rituals you always would carry a part of it with you. Those that moved away still talk fondly about it and some who have moved still visit it. It’s not the same anymore; it doesn’t have its sense of community like it used to. This generation with all of its other distractions can’t appreciate what we had within the courtyard. The escape that it allowed to experience, the reason many of us could not wait until school let out, until it was warm enough to sit outside and the reason we hung out until the first frost scared us away! 151^st and Morris Avenue, to describe it, really doesn’t do it justice. To have grown up and witnessed all that it had to offer, from many celebrations of life, to death knocking at our doors we all understood this little piece of the earth that we called home. We all carry a piece of it with us and we all are different for having the keys to the courtyard.