Mermaid, Roosters and Jesus

Minus the dad, one liners and sassy, sexy neighbor, we could have been Good Times. In fact, part of the exterior shots for the opening credits were of our housing project. My painted on smile aside, the times there were as bleak as the concrete floors and as stifling as the cinder block walls.


Though hope was hard to come by, hard to hold, it did exist.


It, the dissolution and destruction of little family unit went into hyper-drive during our 'projects' stint. Not very close when we moved into the projects, (mostly the usual sibling stuff) our time there drove a wedge into us that continues to mar our interactions (what few we share) to some degree. We were, remain, as disparate as the plaster mermaid, wooden roosters plaque and Jesus portrait you see there behind our respective heads.

My brothers both joined gangs, albeit different ones and very little was good from that day until I moved out of the the family shelter some six years later, having endured all the verbal, physical and emotional trauma perpetrated by my brothers and their various crews I could take. I was the "good one" trying with all my might to be all that they weren't and to make that be enough, more than enough. Accepting that my mother couldn't protect me and I couldn't save her, eventually had no choice but to leave them all to their own devices during Spring 1978.

I look back on those times and I recall going with mom to police stations to claim one or the other brother, the many fights, running from the bangers, crying myself to sleep or losing myself in tv programs, books and music. I recall any number of horrors that I experienced first hand, more that I witnessed and even more than I heard about.

Thankfully, remembering what good there was embedded with the bad comes easier as time goes on. My academic achievements, the piano my mother scrimped and saved to rent for me, my joy in playing it despite the teasing I took, the few celebratory moments we shared as a unit, the easy like Sunday morning times we had, like caring for the puppy little brother rescued from a gang banger who thought she too puny to live are but of a few pockets of memories it is a pleasure to recall.

My older brother turned fifty a few weeks ago, the card I sent him went un-answered. But that's ok as that is what I expected. I hope it made him smile. I hope it drove him to recall a pinch of whatever goodness we shared. I hope that one day we three can put that past and that which has transpired since behind us. Hope, it still exists.