A walk through Far Rock

The neighborhood I live in now is as different as night and day from where I grew up. I live in Far Rockaway, NY now and walking around the neighborhood I feel very enclosed. The buildings, houses and apartments are right next door to each other. Some city dwellers say that Far Rock is "out of town", but if they visited Atlanta, they would know what a real out of town neighborhood looks like. No matter how much I am getting used to it, it will never be as green and as beautiful as Atlanta, Georgia.

Walking down the narrow sidewalk I glance down at the broken pavement, the ridges move up and down, almost as if they were dancing in a pattern. There are parked cars on each side of the street since most people are without driveways here. Looking back at my three story apartment building, it’s much newer than the rest of the houses or buildings on the block, and I am thankful for that. As I walk along I notice all sorts of different people of color and cultures. Closer to my home are little Jewish children riding their tricycles up and down the sidewalk, almost knocking me over out of excitement to be out of their small family homes. But, as I walk down I see more people of ethnic decent. Hispanics and Blacks mostly. Some gathering around an ice cream truck because it’s never too cold for ice cream. I personally have grown to hate the music it makes since it’s reverberating and annoying while I try to relax in the evenings. About two blocks further, as I turn the corner, it is completely ghetto looking. There are no more Jewish kids and no more run down houses even. It all looks like government housing to me. There are metal bars on the windows and the doors of some apartments look worn and tattered. There is a gated tiny convenience store I walk into. It’s owned by Arabs. All the jokes start running through my mind now. “A Jewish girl walks into an Arab convenience store..." I giggle to myself. No worries, I know these guys since I come here in a pinch sometimes for milk or OJ. They smile at me and say, "hello, how are you", in their broken English. I smile back and slide around the clustered line forming out the door and isles, to find what I need. I leave with not yet ripe bananas and a carton of Tropicana. Walking back home I notice even though the neighborhood seems more sketchy to me, there are still people going about there business outside. Little black girls jumping rope while chanting poetic songs, a Hispanic mother dressed like she's going to a fiesta, clutching her little boy's hand so he doesn't run in the street. It gets me to thinking, that even though they don't have yards to play in and they need to watch their children more because they are without fences; they live their lives like any other person would. As I get closer to my building I see warn down houses again, some have yards and fences, others do not. There is a red bricked public school behind the houses that I notice through the driveways. We don’t have schools back in the ATL behind our houses. I close my eyes for a minute and think back to Atlanta, the green plush grass, big driveways, renovated houses, and no one parking on the street...unless you’re having a party. The sprinkler systems watering the gardens people work so hard on with beautiful colored roses and lilies and…” BEEP, BEEP, BEEP”, I am rudely interrupted by the sound of cars incessantly honking their horns at each other. I begrudgingly open my eyes. Once again, I am back in Far Rockaway.