*I’ve had the opportunity to live in several cities and I must admit, each of them hold fond memories.

Let’s see: I was born and lived in New York — Brooklyn’s (now gentrified) Bed-Stuy area — when I was but a wee child. I don’t really remember much of it.

But somehow, my strongest memory is the time I was frightened out of my mind as I ran up the stone steps of our Brownstone. Neighborhood children were chasing me with a “toy” that was a stick with a fake worm wrapped around it.

I tripped on the way up those stairs and knocked my front tooth loose.

OK. Maybe Bed-Stuy is not a fond memory.

Then there was the Bronx. Here, my dad was the building manager (at the time the title was the “Super”) and we lived in a spacious apartment underground. We literally went downstairs through a gate, below the surface of the sidewalk. That’s where we lived.

Let’s see: I recall a woman, a white woman, got drunk and somehow ended up on the roof of our six-story building; where she fell off…right onto my dad’s car on the street below — shattering his front window and denting the hood. I can still hear the barrage of expletives he commanded on that day. Showing no sympathy whatsoever for the poor girl.

Think back and remember. There’s more at EURThisNthat.