Christmas morning,1961, got my first real bike. Dad lined us up before my inaugural ride ~ me, with a goofy ass face with cousin, Bobby, and brother, Rory, in front of the Old Timers Tavern on York Avenue & 83rd Street.
.
Immediately after the photo, I wobbled around York and down 84th Street towards East End Avenue. Ida Bodner jumped off the curb to avoid being struck. Her sister-in-law, Irene, did an awkward but effective cha-cha move to barely escape my drunken lurch.
.
I continued down 84th Street unimpeded, enjoying the hill at the bottom, I picked up speed and crashed into the brown mailbox on the corner, went over to my left in a heap, and landed in a large pile of dog crap.
.
I walked the bike up 83rd Street to my house and presented myself to Mom for clean-up. Dad waited 20 minutes on York Avenue for my return, puzzled, he went up my grandmother's apartment, called Mom, and get the good news.
.
.
2 comments:
Loved all the stories! :-) It's such fun reading because I was born and raised on a small Missouri farm. When I was around 42 years old, I made a trip to New York City to meet a friend. I was scared to death and I wasn't afraid of anything! I was supposed to stay for 5 days and only spent one night there and left the next afternoon. All it took was one ride on the subway from the airport, one night in a very tall hotel that I thought looked a little well worn, spent that night wondering what to do if it caught on fire, one walk down a street with tall buildings, and I was on my way back to the mid-west and wide open spaces. It's interesting to hear how life was, when you were born there.
thats interesting, tootie, your impression of the city, it is true that the fishbowl is all about what side of the glass youre on, to me, the city's blemishes always blend in, ok, most of the time blend in
Post a Comment