The Bronx
On a recent morning walk with Kiki, I realized that it was colder than I had anticipated, so I grabbed the first knit cap I could find. The cap says “The Bronx” complete with quotation marks on it. How fitting. To grab THIS cap, on the same day that my sister would be leaving NYC for Boston. How fitting.
There have been so many big changes in my life recently, which should not be a surprise to anyone over the age of 40. Life seems to be one big change these days. I turn funny in my sleep and suddenly my hip is out of place and I am contemplating physical therapy. Big changes. But what has really been turning in my mind and my heart lately is that my immediate family, outside of the family that lives with me immediately, no longer resides in the Bronx.
Being from the Bronx comes with an elevated level of boldness, pride, and identity. What does it mean to no longer be from there?
There are so many Bronx memories in my mind. The best place to get a Jamaican beef patty with coco bread was the pizza place on Soundview Ave. that was owned by Italians but run by Mexicans. Friday family dinners were always the best if we went to the Chino-Latino restaurant on White Plains Rd. for their roasted chicken, fried rice, and platanos. Alexanders became TSS became Caldor in the blink of an eye but it didn’t matter because the cuchifrito food truck in the back had the best bacalaitos. The absolute perfect carrot cake can only be found at Lloyd’s. And I am pretty sure that my dad would get my birthday marble cheesecake from some nuns in Kingsbridge. I remember a lot of food.
Transportation needs to be mapped out when you are from the Bronx. Riding the 27x bus to the 2 train if I needed to be on the West side or the 39x bus to the 6 train if I needed to be on the East side. Giving myself 90 minutes to get somewhere, anywhere, because a bus or train can be a hot mess. For Halloween one year, I remember a guy was dressed as Jason and was standing on the Parkchester platform. He scared the wrong person and got jumped at 7am. It is what it is.
Childhood weekend trips always included a Yankees game or the Bronx Zoo or the bonsai tree exhibit at the Botanical Garden or the public library on Eastchester Ave. I learned to read in their stacks and then was fully supported by the teachers at PS 182x and then IS 174x. Later, I went to Riverdale Country School and learned that tree lined streets exist in the Bronx.
When I was little, I dreamt about adult me. Adult me would be a local Bronx reporter, have a 1 bedroom place in Parkchester, and maybe meet a cute boy from Pelham Parkway. We would do date nights in Little Italy or City Island but avoid Orchard Beach because we all know what floats in those waters. We would save up to live in Yonkers or, if we were really bougie, White Plains, but I would always think about our first place in Parkchester.
Instead, I met a cute boy from East Harlem who’s dad lived in Throggs Neck and we lived in Riverdale. Right before we were married, we picked up his white-on-whites from the Foot Locker on Fordham Road. We eventually moved to Yonkers and beyond. We now call Baltimore home.
The Bronx is changing in so many ways. My best friend’s childhood apartment building in Soundview is now luxury housing which rattles my brain. The corner bodega is now a real estate management office. I see bike lanes and Starbucks and I am struck by the number of white people living at the intersection of White Plains Rd. and Soundview Ave.
So many decades of my soul are intertwined with the Bronx. When people ask me where I am from, I tell them I am from Baltimore but really from the Bronx. When people ask my kids, they say Baltimore.
I never thought the day would come that I would no longer be rooted in the Bronx but I think I am here. This is not a goodbye to the Bronx but, rather, a hope for an invitation to be a guest one day. The Bronx has shaped me but I recognize that I am from a snapshot in time in that borough. To my spunky and wild and always reliable borough — I love you. The Bronx, you will always have my heart.