on the road again…
Before my second birthday, my parents thought it would be a great idea to uproot me from the Bronx and move to Ireland. Lovely Listowel in County Kerry to be exact.
It was for my own good.
Y’see my mom didn’t want to raise her firstborn in “the ghetto” and, despite the fact that no one had money and everyone was unemployed, the bog was much more acceptable than New York. I could run through the fields, fall into cowshit, foot turf and do all the other things that country kids are supposed to do without fear of being shot or mugged.
Ah the good life.
Except none of that actually happened. I was banned from the bog after that time I filled ten bags full of wet sods. Running through fields always led to twisted ankles. I fell into cowshit once at my grandparents’ house and cried so much I was sent to bed ’til I calmed down.
For as long as I can remember I’ve always wanted to go back to New York. And holidays don’t count – I wanted to live there.
And now, almost 20 years after I first left, I’m going home I’m going on a reeeaaaaally long holiday…
I guess you could say this will be a sort of diary about me and my life in the city that never sleeps.
Except I like to sleep. A lot. Wonder how that’s gonna go…
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hahah “the ghetto”. My curfew was like 9pm when I was 17 in Brooklyn. Parents exaggerate SO MUCH. Neither Bensonhurst or where you’re from in the Bronx are “the ghetto”.