The newbies don’t know you like we do. We used to hang out on the steps waiting for the ice cream truck at 11 pm, remember? Sure, we were kids and maybe we shouldn’t have been out that late, but we liked the dark and admit it, you liked us out there too. There were only three concrete steps in front of our house, but that’s … Continue reading Ohio Street
I blame it on the butcher-block paper. That was probably what threw us off, what enabled my sister and me to distort our childhood memory of the Pope’s visit to our neighborhood. A hand-made, trilingual welcome hung above the windows of my grandparents’ grocery store: WITAMY! BENVENUTO! WELCOME POPE JOHN PAUL II! Over the years, my grandfather posted many similar signs throughout his business; … Continue reading 52nd & California
Once again I’ve gotten myself mixed up and met you at that Mexican place we both love. Who says I can’t have huevos rancheros for dinner? And coffee to wash it down? And a pitcher of horchata? And a boy to grin golden grins at me from across the table? No one. No one says that. And that is what this neighborhood is. They … Continue reading To Ride Home on His Handlebars
Then came the day they told me I was going to Pacific Garden Mission in Chicago. My mind barely registered what was written on the card, simply an address with no directions. I had a hazy thought of some run down homeless shelter in the middle of a bad neighborhood. Then I was out. After a year of being a lone shut-in that barely talked … Continue reading My Time at the Pacific Garden Mission
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