Negotiating Dad's Territory

Walking up York avenue towards 85th Street today. I saw a bike locking post that replaced a parking meter and thought of my dad. 

I had friends when I was a kid but often felt disconnected. That made me feel alone and sad. Any time on a weekend, in the street they're were three spots I might see my father.

Leaning against  a parking meter, lamp post, or standing in front of Loftus Tavern on 85th and York or The Old Timers Tavern right next to his mothers house, my grandmother at 1582 York. I craved meeting dad in the street. In the apartment he was territorial. it was his. he gave the orders and you had to follow them or suffer. I developed mediation to avoid his justice. In the street it was different as if I magically got older, because he treated me nearly like an equal: He'd ask, "what are you doing? we're down the park? playing ball? how did it go?"

More like talking to a friend. Same thing when I was in the taverns with him. A lot less ordering. I would listen to him tell jokes to his friends (without cursing - never heard Dad say the F word.) In the bar I knew my place but also knew they accepted me as one of the guys. 

Playing football was even better.  Dad couldn’t tell me what to do. He could encourage me, he could suggest, but what I did out there was up to me.  He never missed a league game from 1968 to 1974  playing for the OLGC Rams and the Bronx Warriors even with his massive hangovers. Getting on the number #6 train at 7am for a 930 game at Rice Stadium in Pelham. 

Dad could be stingy (Ask Mom about her lack of house money raises). 

But at Paragon’s, he bought me a new helmet and spine & hip pads to put in my football pants. If I needed something for football, odds were, I get it. And I didn’t abuse it. I never wanted to cross the line where he thought I was using him. I knew, through me, he vicariously was living his football youth on the 89th Street & York field in 30s and 40s and games in Central Park. Without football not sure Dad and I could have survived together. I’m grateful we did. Without him, I’d have few stories to tell, and less interest and curiosity about storytelling, art, photography, and neighborhood history. So passing the bike lock today that looks so much like an old parking meter across the street from Loftus Tavern now Bailey’s Corner brought warm memories of running into my father when I was feeling blue.  He always gave me a hug. That never got old. I miss his unconditional love. A love, I gave him right back.

"School's Out For Summer!"

Dettmore & Pryor

Saturday, June 22 @ 7-10pm

Ryan's Daughter

350 E 85 St.