I was bad at pretty much everything that a boy should be good at growing up. Boys are supposed to love sports and all sorts of physical activities. I did not. I was fat and out of shape. I couldnt throw a football, I was terrible at basketball, I struggled and sweated riding my bike, I couldnt climb a fence or a tree, and I could run about seven steps before needing oxygen. At a time when physical ability is your cool currency, I was broke- and fragile. I broke my leg riding my bike, my arm falling out of a chair, and my arm again falling off a balcony. I broke my hand trying to climb a fence. I broke my hand playing miniature golf. Yes, miniature golf. The best part about that injury was that I was on my way home from the hospital where I just had a cast removed from my arm. To celebrate, my mother took my sister, cousin and I to the miniature golf course. On the FIRST hole, I tripped over the windmill, heard my wrist snap, and headed right back to the hospital. The nurse at the emergency room actually asked if I had returned because I forgot something.
One thing I was pretty good at was baseball. Not only was I fat but I grew faster than the other guys, so I became a pretty good power hitter. I played catcher, of course, because that was the easiest position for a fat kid to play. And because it was something that I didnt completely suck at, I became obsessed with baseball. And the Yankees were my team. Reggie Jackson, Greg Nettles, Willie Randolf-those great players from the late seventies dynasty teams were my heroes. But what I was really obsessed with was the Yankee lore, the history. Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra. These guys were more than heroes to me, they were gods.
I went to my first Yankees game when I was seven years old-in 1980. I went with my Uncle Ritchie and my cousins Neil and Dennis, who were eight and nine at the time, respectively. My uncle used to drive a beat up blue Dodge Dart with one white door. It started about every third time the key was turned, if you were lucky, and the radio had to be turned off when going uphill because Uncle Ritchie didnt want the power to be drained when all the cars resources were so clearly needed.
Now its not a stretch to say that the South Bronx in 1980 was one of the most dangerous places in America at the time. Its also the home of Yankee Stadium. My Uncle, of course, knew that it would be dangerous to drive three white suburban kids into the South Bronx-so he parked the car in HARLEM and we walked across the Willis Avenue Bridge to Yankee Stadium. As precautionary measures go, this would be like sending your kid to summer camp in Baghdad to get him off the streets at home. Remember this was pre-Giuliani New York. It was like we were parked on the set of The Warriors.
Our seats for that game were in the very, very last row in the upper level. I was sweating like Patrick Ewing at the foul line by the time we climbed all the stairs and got to out seats, just in time for-the rain delay! It rained on us for about an hour, but being in the last seats in the very last row in the upper level, we were seated under an overhang and waited out the delay.
The game started after an hour and because of the rain and fact that the Yanks were playing the Blue Jays that night, most of the upper deck was empty. But we stayed in that top row until Goose Gossage threw the last pitch of that game because Uncle Ritchie said it would be dishonest to move to seats we didnt buy.
The game ended about 10:30PM. Leaving the stadium, we followed my uncle across several parking lots, a basketball court, through a hole in a fence, and back across the Willis Ave Bridge. The car was parked under the bridge, so we had to walk down a flight of stairs so dark that we couldnt see the broken glass or the graffiti. We finally reached the car alive and to no-ones surprise it didnt start. Uncle Ritchie tried again. Nothing. Again. Nothing.
Now we were scared. Three little while boys and a 50-year-old white man stranded in Harlem at 11PM in 1980 was not advisable.
Uncle Ritchie went to look under the hood. Im not sure what he expected to find. My family is not the kind of family that looks under a car hood and identify a problem. Unless theres a raccoon chewing on one of the cables were pretty much stumped as to what the problem is. Surprisingly, though, he WAS able to identify our problem- we had no battery. It was just gone.
At this point Im sure Uncle Ritchie was mulling over what he would tell his wife and my parents if he got out of this alive. Good news! I sold the boys tonight! Theyre being raised by a gang now. I think itll be good for them. We always said they should make more friends. Whatever he was thinking he just stared straight ahead, rolled up his window, even though it was about 87 degrees that night, and told us all to lock our doors.
But what are we gonna do, Dad? Dennis asked.
Just lock your door.
That was his plan. We just sat there.
I think it was about 10 minutes, but it seemed like we were sitting in the car in perfect, terrified silence for hours. Suddenly we were interrupted by a beep. Next to us was a black Trans Am with two men in the front seat and a Doberman with a bicycle chain around its neck in the back seat. The Doberman was the most terrifying looking thing I had ever seen. I was certain I was going to die there on the set of The Warriors.
You guys having car problems? One of the guys yelled.
My uncle rolled down the window for maybe a quarter of an inch. No thank you, he said. No thanks. He rolled up the window and continued staring straight ahead.
Yes we are, Neil said.
Shut up my uncle said through clenched teeth.
Want me to take a look? The guy insisted.
Clearly these guys werent going anywhere. Uncle Ritchie didnt know what they were up to, but he thought he better play along. He got out of the car and opened the hood as the driver of the other car met him to take a look. The passenger in the Trans Am sat holding the Dobermans bicycle chain.
Youre missing a battery, the Trans Am noted astutely.
I know, my uncle could only respond.
You know, I think I may have an extra battery in the trunk. Our new friend said. I can sell it to you if you want.
Buy it, Dad! Dennis yelled.
Shut up, Dennis. My uncle responded.
But of course we had the buy the battery-OUR battery- from him, and then pay an extra $50 for him to install it. And I cant relate my sense of relief when we pulled onto the Harlem River Drive back towards the George Washington Bridge. I couldnt understand why my uncle was still so upset, though.
Sure is lucky that guy had an extra battery to sell us, I noted.
My uncle didnt respond.
One thing I was pretty good at was baseball. Not only was I fat but I grew faster than the other guys, so I became a pretty good power hitter. I played catcher, of course, because that was the easiest position for a fat kid to play. And because it was something that I didnt completely suck at, I became obsessed with baseball. And the Yankees were my team. Reggie Jackson, Greg Nettles, Willie Randolf-those great players from the late seventies dynasty teams were my heroes. But what I was really obsessed with was the Yankee lore, the history. Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra. These guys were more than heroes to me, they were gods.
I went to my first Yankees game when I was seven years old-in 1980. I went with my Uncle Ritchie and my cousins Neil and Dennis, who were eight and nine at the time, respectively. My uncle used to drive a beat up blue Dodge Dart with one white door. It started about every third time the key was turned, if you were lucky, and the radio had to be turned off when going uphill because Uncle Ritchie didnt want the power to be drained when all the cars resources were so clearly needed.
Now its not a stretch to say that the South Bronx in 1980 was one of the most dangerous places in America at the time. Its also the home of Yankee Stadium. My Uncle, of course, knew that it would be dangerous to drive three white suburban kids into the South Bronx-so he parked the car in HARLEM and we walked across the Willis Avenue Bridge to Yankee Stadium. As precautionary measures go, this would be like sending your kid to summer camp in Baghdad to get him off the streets at home. Remember this was pre-Giuliani New York. It was like we were parked on the set of The Warriors.
Our seats for that game were in the very, very last row in the upper level. I was sweating like Patrick Ewing at the foul line by the time we climbed all the stairs and got to out seats, just in time for-the rain delay! It rained on us for about an hour, but being in the last seats in the very last row in the upper level, we were seated under an overhang and waited out the delay.
The game started after an hour and because of the rain and fact that the Yanks were playing the Blue Jays that night, most of the upper deck was empty. But we stayed in that top row until Goose Gossage threw the last pitch of that game because Uncle Ritchie said it would be dishonest to move to seats we didnt buy.
The game ended about 10:30PM. Leaving the stadium, we followed my uncle across several parking lots, a basketball court, through a hole in a fence, and back across the Willis Ave Bridge. The car was parked under the bridge, so we had to walk down a flight of stairs so dark that we couldnt see the broken glass or the graffiti. We finally reached the car alive and to no-ones surprise it didnt start. Uncle Ritchie tried again. Nothing. Again. Nothing.
Now we were scared. Three little while boys and a 50-year-old white man stranded in Harlem at 11PM in 1980 was not advisable.
Uncle Ritchie went to look under the hood. Im not sure what he expected to find. My family is not the kind of family that looks under a car hood and identify a problem. Unless theres a raccoon chewing on one of the cables were pretty much stumped as to what the problem is. Surprisingly, though, he WAS able to identify our problem- we had no battery. It was just gone.
At this point Im sure Uncle Ritchie was mulling over what he would tell his wife and my parents if he got out of this alive. Good news! I sold the boys tonight! Theyre being raised by a gang now. I think itll be good for them. We always said they should make more friends. Whatever he was thinking he just stared straight ahead, rolled up his window, even though it was about 87 degrees that night, and told us all to lock our doors.
But what are we gonna do, Dad? Dennis asked.
Just lock your door.
That was his plan. We just sat there.
I think it was about 10 minutes, but it seemed like we were sitting in the car in perfect, terrified silence for hours. Suddenly we were interrupted by a beep. Next to us was a black Trans Am with two men in the front seat and a Doberman with a bicycle chain around its neck in the back seat. The Doberman was the most terrifying looking thing I had ever seen. I was certain I was going to die there on the set of The Warriors.
You guys having car problems? One of the guys yelled.
My uncle rolled down the window for maybe a quarter of an inch. No thank you, he said. No thanks. He rolled up the window and continued staring straight ahead.
Yes we are, Neil said.
Shut up my uncle said through clenched teeth.
Want me to take a look? The guy insisted.
Clearly these guys werent going anywhere. Uncle Ritchie didnt know what they were up to, but he thought he better play along. He got out of the car and opened the hood as the driver of the other car met him to take a look. The passenger in the Trans Am sat holding the Dobermans bicycle chain.
Youre missing a battery, the Trans Am noted astutely.
I know, my uncle could only respond.
You know, I think I may have an extra battery in the trunk. Our new friend said. I can sell it to you if you want.
Buy it, Dad! Dennis yelled.
Shut up, Dennis. My uncle responded.
But of course we had the buy the battery-OUR battery- from him, and then pay an extra $50 for him to install it. And I cant relate my sense of relief when we pulled onto the Harlem River Drive back towards the George Washington Bridge. I couldnt understand why my uncle was still so upset, though.
Sure is lucky that guy had an extra battery to sell us, I noted.
My uncle didnt respond.
VIEW 25 of 66 COMMENTS
severus:
hahaha! that's great! you are a bowling retard, me too. yesterday some guy rung on our door and said they didnt get it right before the weekend so they had to do it again now.. whatever, i don't get it, and it sounded like it's only ONE pipe, they must be pretty lame it takes forever. it's just our small bathroom we can't use, lucky us we got two. otherwise it would have been crazy. i'm emailing with my mom about moving and about how my boyfriend is, he's not well thats for sure. and think about if i should go downtown and eat out or make something here, i could sure need some fresh air but it's COLD and icy outside, and i should try to read between the buzzing noises. drive safe baby!
severus:
im going in to city now, write me something funny to read when i get back