At the age of 37 I have come to realize that the space I occupy where I sleep, eat sometimes, and write this Blog is not really my home nor is it a place of comfort. I don’t like my kitchen, not a fan of the bathroom, and I really don’t have patience for the rest of the place either. Is it that I’m difficult to please or is it really this space?
Some of my first memories of my childhood home are of my mother cooking in the kitchen and my dad somewhere in the backyard. Since 1989 I haven’t had much of a feeling of a home where I can sit back and enjoy its comfort because in 1989 my parents sold the house I grew up in and I never got over it. The new house came at a time that my sisters and I were in a transition in our lives no longer was I being bused to school I had to get there on my own. The oldest was in college and working in the real world and my other sister was in her last year of high school. The new neighborhood greeted me with the constant harassment of the police because, I imagine, they never saw me before and wanted to see what I was about. The new house was only six blocks away from my high school and that provided me the opportunity to cut class as often as I could and just go home. I tried not to but I ran into many problems with the biggest kids. I was never afraid because I had already spent a lot of time getting into little fights here and there with older kids in my old neighborhood and learned my way around them.
One day I’m walking up to the fourth floor of the high school and the wrestling team was just standing there in the middle of the hall way. I moved past them and one of them hit the books out of my hands and he was the biggest one of them all. I looked up at him and cussed him out and told him he better get my books. They all started laughing and one of them said “make me!” So as I reached for a weapon, that I carried at the time, a much smaller guy and obviously older than them gave them a look and they quickly gave me my books. I don’t remember his name but I do remember him being around when I needed help the most. So as days like this became common I would cut class and go home. Once I’d get home I felt as if I didn’t belong and end up leaving again going back towards the school. I usually went to the McDonalds because I really didn’t have a whole lot of their food before high school so I tried to enjoy as much of it as I could. At times I would just go into the park and sit there staring out into the open and watch older people doing their exercises in the park. There is a Marine Corp. station by there and I would watch them run up and down the side of the river and I’d count how long it took them to do so. At some point I’d make it back home and go to my room and sleep.
I’ve adjusted to the house and the neighborhood as best I could and know it like the back of my hand. Over the years I’ve seen so many people move in and out of nearby buildings watch neighbors children grow up but I still don’t feel at home. Sometimes I’ll take a day trip to Indiana or somewhere and when I get back I do feel a bit of comfort but it leaves as soon as I turn on the lights. I’ve painted and move things around but the feeling never changes so the question is why do I feel that way?
I believe that the separation from my childhood home, friends, and neighborhood took place abruptly because we left at a time that the neighborhood was changing as well. The area was never known for drug sales but the summer of 1989 crack was being sold across the street from the elementary school that was three blocks away. I had my encounters with some of those drug dealers and it was never favorable for them because I didn’t understand why they wanted to sell drugs. The biggest of them all were two brothers that were twins. They were making a lot of money and I later found out how they paid off the police to be able to sell across the street from the school without ever being bothered. I felt as if when we left it was me turning my back to the community that had raised me and cared for me.
Many changes took place in my family during the early part of the 1990’s and as that changed I changed quicker. I left my house at the age of 15 and dropped out of high school on my 16th birthday at the suggestions of my principle. This is how I found out that at 16 one can make the choice to leave school without their parents’ consent simply by signing my own name. What power that took on my life and I always associated that with moving out of my childhood home. Since then I’ve moved at least 25 times in my life everywhere from living alone to roommates to a basement room at a cousin’s house to a park bench at Riis Park for the summer and back here. Each place has something special to it even the park bench. I remember waking up one morning and just watching the squirrels run around looking for something to eat and I found comfort in that.
I’m not unhappy I just don’t feel my space to be anything special as a home would for anyone else. I keep the place up make sure any repairs that needs attention gets done. The last time I painted I decided to paint a tree where my bed goes. It’s not the best drawing but it does cover the whole wall so every night I feel like I’m sleeping under a tree again like I did on that park bench. I still toss and turn but I’m finding my Peace at what should be my home.
Peace/AMOR
Gerardo
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