The 80's

 The 80's in New York City was a Riot of color and sound. 

Bold bright neon colors and metal piercings,

new age pop, goth, rock and MTV.

Graffiti lined the streets and subway cars,

telling stories, marking territories, beautifying with color

what the city left drab and lifeless.

"Material Girls" walked around doing their best Madonna imitations,

while boys strutted in "Miami Vice" jackets, wife beaters or school uniforms,

piercings and tattoos temporarily hidden.

Jordache, Lee, Adidas and Pumas, "Bomber jackets" and "TROOP" jackets

coveted items often stollen following a beat down

despite the urban legend that TROOP stood for "Total Rule Over Oppressed People"

regardless of  size

The air was permeated oddly with both promise 

and the stale smell of dirty water dogs, weed, crack and Drakar.

There was a magic to the city then,

when synchronicity would have you head out on your own, only to be well met by a group of friends in

 Thompsons Park, Washington Square Park or Sheep's Meadow. 

Landmarks were our beacons,

phonebooths our haven from the rain.

We saw people shine brightly, boldly letting their colors show

and embraced gayly for their courage in doing it.

Teen nights at the clubs and sweaty dance battles with late night recuperations at the Round the Clock

Cafe, Pizzeria Uno's or Micky D's. 

where first dates were often had by,

nervous teens using their parent's credit cards for the first time,

when summers felt like they lasted forever,

and the threat of growing up seemed farther away than we wanted, 

and closer than we were prepared for. 

Filthy and Inoculated

Under multicolored skies

and the city's daily serenade of sirens, curses and breaks,

children played,

with wanton sense of adventure that comes with longer days and warmer nights.

Street laps barking alarms to go home,

were ignored.

Butterflies, fire flies and green breezes were received with delight and wonder

as nature wafted hints of other worlds before our senses. 

We were starved for nature but not curiosity.

Hopscotching over cracks,

we wondered at those who grew up with green lawns and extra curricular activities

while we build hide outs in vacant lots from pieces of broken fridges, cars and three legged grocery carts.

But while they had lemonade and pools,

we had piraguas with coconut water and liberated fire hydrants;

where they had soccer and football fields, 

we had bottle cap soccer, handball, street rules football and basket ball in drug addled parks

There were no bike lanes.

Ingenuity and self preservation were the skills we learned.

There were no bucolic seating areas for us.

The city was our dangerous playground,

where the herd was culled daily

We didn't climb trees, but some did tied sneakers onto street lamps.

We explored abandoned buildings

in lieu of school dances with chaperones

we gave birth to instant street parties

with boom boxes and abuelita's chicken and rice.

We came home filthy and inoculated and oddly satisfied.

We made the best of our communities, despite the powers that be. 

Latchkey Kids

 What did we want you ask?

What did we dream of as children growing up in grey cities surrounded 

by broken concreate and broken people?

We dreamed of peace

open areas with green grass and climbable trees

stary nights

clean air

freedom

latchkey kids dreamed of having their own bedrooms

privacy to expand 

making tents and having sleep overs

functioning air conditioning 

treehouses and field trips

and the serenity and security needed to flourish

and yet, like weeds

so often dismissed as worthless

those who survived, thrived

to dream dreams of providing these things and more for their children.

But in this economy?

We now raise the next generation of latchkey kids, so lost in their social media and efforts to be some "virtual" somebody, they don't know... how much more trapped they are now,

then we were then. 

At the least we can say, we Lived, we Explored, and had the Wildest Dystopian Adventures

America’s Weekly Fetishized Snuff Film

Mom!

How can they fear for their lives when I’m the one running for mine?

Mom!

I didn’t do anything wrong!

Mom!

Why do they hate me?

Mom!

Why are they hurting me?

Moooooomy!

How can I give them my hands when one is pretzeling my legs, two are pulling my arms in different directions and the other is kneeling on my neck?

9 minutes mah 

I can’t breath

Over a traffic stop

A cigarette

A broken tail light 

A look

My babe’s in the car

mom….