It’s funny how things happen when they’re supposed to happen. I loved my brother from the moment he was born., but I envied his outgoing personality and the fact that everyone seemed to like him better. He deferred to me but there always seemed to be this imperious attitude, an air about him in which […]Read More My Brother, My Best Friend
My parents scrimped and saved to get us out of Bed-Stuy. My Mom and Dad both worked and in fact each had two jobs. My Mom worked in a Stride Rite factory and sold jewelry on the side. Dad worked in the post office as a clerk and also sold watches and religious paraphernalia: bibles […]Read More Fighting in Cypress Hills
I grew up in Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, in the late sixties and early seventies. I’m Puerto Rican, so you would think that fitting into what amounted to a very ethnic neighborhood, wouldn’t be such a problem. However, nothing could be farther from the truth. I am and have always been fair-complected, so living in a predominantly […]Read More Fighting Bullies
My father has called me a liar since I was very young. He doesn’t believe the words I say, nor the stories I tell. He doesn’t understand the way my mind works; the way most people’s mind works. It seems that he thinks that I’m the teller of tall tales. It took me a long […]Read More And So It Begins. . .