WARNING: BLACK PEOPLE IN BROOKLYN!

Since moving to Park Slope, I’ve joined a few neighborhood parent Yahoo groups. It’s interesting to read what all these different people post and it says a lot about the neighborhood I live in.

The following is a well intentioned alert about an “African American” wondering around in the park who was “looking at people with a menacing face and the passing them by.”
She ended up calling the police on the dude and sending out this group post.

(NAMES WERE REMOVED TO PROTECT THE NAÏVE)

“I wanted to let people know that twice in the last week in the North Slope my husband and I spotted a strange-looking man. The first time was last Wed., the day the Darfur camp was being set up, around 6:30 PM in Long Meadow. A 30-35 year old African American male, 6'2" or 6'3" in a black sweatshirt with a hood and matching black sweatpants was wandering around the meadow very slowly, seemingly on drugs, looking at people with a menacing face and then passing them by. (There were other people there at that time who may have seen him and may be on this list. Tonight around 7:30 PM the same man was on President St. between 8th and PPW, walking down the street very slowly. When I came his way with my daughter he turned, faced me and began to approach. I turned around and went around the corner, my husband came and we called the cops. In the meantime, another woman also started to go down President St. and was so frightened she called her boyfriend to come meet her. By the time the police came, he had wandered off the block (toward the park). I don't have any faith that they found him, even though he moves slowly, but wanted people to be aware in the north part of the park and on the surrounding streets. He is recognizable by the black jogging suit, very gaunt cheeks, shaved or very short hair, slow gait and intense expression. Use caution. - ***, mother of a 1-yr-old”



Since this was posted there have been a couple of encouraging responses like, “It’s not illegal to walk around in the city and make faces at people…” and “I think that we in Brooklyn have so much potential to model good, inclusive citizenship that provides for us to question why we have ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’ people.”

That last quote comes from a lady who included a story about her crazy-ass neighbor coming to her aid one evening.

What really worries me is that I didn’t really think too much about her warning the first time I read it. I should have been the first one to post a smartass comment about it. I’ve been living in the San Antonio barrio for the past six years, a place where drug dealers, pimps and prostitutes walk openly down the street.

Have I been mugged yet? Indeed.

(m = rise/run)

Perpetually late, every morning involves rushing my six-year-old. I’ve got nobody to blame for us being behind schedule, but yet make him feel responsible.

My dad would do the same crap to me.

Once out the door, six minutes past 8, the trek to elementary school involves a walk up two long Park Slope blocks. Awhile back I figured out a way to trick him into keeping up with my brisk pace.

I talk to him.

I told you I was the best dad ever.

As we locked up the apartment, he randomly recounted a conversation from school where someone told him Yoda was dead.

Yoda, I imagine, came up in elementary-school conversation when Celo brought up how we spent the weekend dueling with lightsabers in the park. (Best Dad Ever)

This provided an opportunity to recount the events of Empire Stikes Back on the hurried trip to school. I threw in the Battle of Hoth, Jedi Training, Cloud City, Vader’s Horrific Revelation and the Carbonite-ization of Han Solo for padding.

In case you’re doubting my Best Dad Ever status at this point I can assure you he’s seen The Original Trilogy before, but admittedly not as many times as he should.

In other school news, I found out yesterday the school’s award winning chess team was disbanded this year for a loss of Title 1 Funding. This makes no sense to me.

The PTA is working on raising funds for a coach. One parent was telling me they’re trying to hire the old coach who wants like $16,000 for the year. Seems we could maybe get a cheaper coach…

Me, My Worst Enemy

Walking up Park Slope on any given weekend, one must not only fight gravity, but must struggle also against a gauntlet of stoop sales.

During the week similiar stuff is free, discarded by hurried Brooklynites who lack the time or patients or gall to standby on Saturdays and Sundays while neighbors browse through and haggle over punch bowels, baby books and Tom Jones LPs.

Back in 1977 Tom Jones could get away with releasing an LP with 9 songs on it. Take "The Classic" for example. Jones threw down covers of "My Way," "The Impossible Dream," "Ain't No Sunshine," "You've Lost that Lovin' Feelin'," "Bridge Over Troubled Water" and four others and called it a day.

You just can't do that these days. People expect at least 15 or 16 songs. I remember when Ice T released "O.G. Original Gangster" back in '91. 24 tracks. I'm pretty sure he counted a few of the skits, too, but still, it raised expectations of quanity, more bang for the buck.

And that's why I blame Ice T for the proliferation of Wal-Marts.

My point is I got two freelance articles due at the end of the month, I haven't started either and I'm explaining the relationship between Ice T and megastores.

Why, oh why do I always do this to myself?

On the bright side, I picked up Men at Work's "Business as Usual" for two bucks at one of these stoop sales last weekend and listening to it cheers my spirtit.

"Listen to your heart,

Screaming at the sky,

Can't you feel it tremble?

Don't you wonder why?"

Reading, Riting and Rythmatic

As good a place to start as any…

It’s been almost a whole two months since I uprooted my son from everything he ever knew and dropped him in Brooklyn somewhere between Park Slope and Gowannus.

Why would a single father move away from the support network which allowed him to maintain something of a social life while being able to boast his single-fatherdom?

Honestly, I don’t have a simple answer for that. Somewhere within the proceeding pages perhaps the answer will present itself.

Or maybe I’ll come to my senses.

There’s a first time for everthing.