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Growing Up Black: What Do You Recall From Your Childhood (And How Has it Shaped Your ‘Now?’)

*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.

 





DeBorah B. Pryor :