Why Would I Dream About The Bronx???????????????????????????????

  

"What's to tell about The Bronx?  It's uptown, and to the right."--   Priscilla Lopez, as Diana Morales, in "A Chorus Line."  



Girls, let me tell you what happened.  I was almost finishing this nice long post about The Bronx, when the screen went blue, erasing all I had written.  So now, I have to start again, meaning the post will not be the same as the first.  Better, or worse?   Even I cannot tell.


But I can condense.  I wrote about my three very limited experiences with The Bronx.  The first was as a child, in the Sixties, driving with my Aunt Kathleen and grandmother to visit my grandmother's sister, whom I called Aunt Essie, in the Fordham section.  Her building was elevated, and my grandmother and I were thrilled to ride in the elevator, but my aunt was afraid--she had many neuroses, a family trait-- and walked up six flights!  I loved Aunt Essie's sixth-floor apartment, and hoped someday to take it over myself, but, as I said earlier, sometimes things not turning out the way one wants can be for the best.


The next sojourn was in the 1990's, on a date, with a guy I met at the LGBQT Center in the Village, probably in the book group I was in.  His name was, I think Bob or Bobby.  He was in his thirties, a little shorter than I, and suggested we visit The Bronx Botanical Gardens, which he lived near to.  I had to take the train--the number 6--to the Parkchester stop, and while the neighborhood was nice, the trip took me through some scary neighborhoods which are probably even worse today.  Bob and I had coffee at his place, but no hanky panky.  I don't think either of us wanted it.  The visit to the gardens was nice, and he walked me back to the subway politely.  I never saw him again.  I thought maybe a nice friendship might have come out of this, but alas.... That is the world of gay dating.
   


My final excursion to The Bronx was in 2006, to the Rose Hill campus at Fordham University.  My father, then 91, was being inducted into the Fordham University Athletic Hall Of Fame. He had been a four-letter man--football, baseball, basketball, and track.  I had no ability whatsoever; looking back, I think it bothered me more than my father.  It turned out also to be something of a family reunion; several of my cousins were there, as well as my nephew Jonathan, representing my sister, his mother, who could not be there, as she was taking care of my brother-in-law, who had Parkinson's.  It was a wonderful day, I was so proud of my father, the journey uptown on an early Sunay morning, as the sun was rising. was exciting, and the Rose Hill campus made me wish I wanted to enroll for something.


Sixteen years later, after a pandemic never anticipated, as well as outright hatred and violence, I would never think of setting foot in The Bronx.  Once I dreamed of dining at Dominick's restaurant, on Aruthur Avenue, but there is no direct train line, and one has to walk through some what were, back in the day, very dicey areas, but now must be worse.  So, that is that.  Plus, whenever David and I watch the news at night, and some unfortunate person is attacked, more often than not the location turns out to be somewhere in The Bronx.  No thanks.


So, why, in the world, would I dream about The Bronx?  I did, one night last week.  Of course, my therapist would have to be on vacation, so I cannot ask him.  Readers, if you want to take a go at it, please do.


The dream made me feel I was being held captive in a car, driven by my mother.  I was younger, and so was she; hell, she was still alive.  She was determined to get me out of the house, and on my own, so she had found for me--meaning rented--a place in The Bronx, which she plopped me down in, and left. My last memory was of sitting in the empty living room, thinking, "Now, what do I do?"


Some background is needed here.  After college, in 1977, I moved back home.  I began looking for jobs, locally, and in NYC, fixated on the latter.  My plan was to commute each day to NYC from New Brunswick, living in the house in Highland Park, until my parents passed, whereby I would sell the house, and move into a small apartment in Highland Park.  What did I know?  Much as I desired New York, all I really knew, South Orange aside, was Highland Park!


But things went differently.  My mother passed in 1979, my father sold the house in 1980, I was commuting to NYC by 1981, with my father champing at the bit, and some of his siblings and some of my cousins coming down on me, for holding him back, as I was not on my own yet.  That happened on December 1, 1983, in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.


So, why this dream about The Bronx?  And my mother?  I can tell you, had my mother lived a longer life, she would have balked at the idea of me living in NYC.  She hated the place.  And I used to call her provincial.  If she saw what was going on now, she would freak!


Or who knows?  People change.  I certainly have!  Back in Jersey I would never admit about my sexuality.  But once I got to NYC, who cares?


As for The Bronx, it was just a dream.  But if you want the best Italian food in all five boroughs, go to Manducatis, now called Manducatis Rusticana in Long Island City, Queens.  The food and service are the best!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Besides, what can be said about a borough whose best claim to fame is supplying a classic line to an iconic musical???????????????