Sounds of Hope

One of the first things my sleepy eyes focused on this morning is a text message. Just the notification of the text message that flashes when you pick up your phone. It simply said, Happy Thanksgiving! No gif, no picture, just simple words. Then I saw it was from my BFF from 53rd Street.  Fifty Third Street was my universe. This tree lined street of mixed style houses and diverse neighbors shaped my existence. It is hard for people from other universes to understand how one city block can be your world. But it was my world.   Diverse neighbors wove a tapestry of friendship and understanding. They also fought and squabbled as they dealt with all the complexities of life. To paint that world as idyllic robs the world of its reality and truth. I've written about all these things before. I've written about the horror of abuse, the misunderstandings, the fears as well as the joys and triumphs.  Recently, a voice from the past has emerged into my present world....

The ocean beckons.   It speaks softly and loudly.   It breaks in rhythmic cadence.   All day, all year, its rhythm never changing.   As it speaks softly to me, it’s sound tickles my memory.   The beach, a place of solace.   The beach, a place of warmth.   The beach, memories profound.   Coney Island.   Loud.   Happy.   Hot sand.   My dad but never my mother.   A black and white photo of my brother tormenting me with hot sand.   A look of pain on my face.   The carousel and catching the golden ring.   Knishes! Hot Knishes!   Ice cream.   Nathan’s hot dog and amazing crinkle fries, NO Ketchup.   Cotton candy.   George C. Tilyou ’s Steeplechase Park.   The parachute jump.   Skee ball!   Each crash of the wave sparks another memory. My childhood seemed happy.   And it was.   My parents seemed happily married.   Likely they weren’t but they made commitments an...