I am 90 and grew up in Elmhurst where we were the first Asian family. We lived behind our laundry, of course. After free Hunter College I married and raised my family in the Midwest. I remember with great and loving sentiment the 5 cent subway ride and the 2 cent Daily News and the shirts my parents washed and ironed for 10 cents. NYC was the door to my grown fulfilled life and is always home.
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How I empathize with this woman's mother. Yes, once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker. And after many of my friends and I left Brooklyn, one of my children is raising her family there and I get to go back to so many memories. I point out locations and changes, and although I know my family could care less, I can't stop because I carry New York within.
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We paid a visit like this to the Bronx with my mother about 10 years ago. She was about 85. As we stood in the courtyard looking around at the little gardens that someone had decorated with gnomes, a young woman with a child emerged. We explained the purpose of our visit. “Are the apartments still so beautiful?” Asked my mother. The young woman, stunned, returned my mother’s gaze. “It’s Section 8,” she responded incredulously. “Oh,” my mother said, not knowing at all what that meant. But clearly it wasn’t good.
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What a beautiful piece. So enjoyable to read and so intimately relatable.
You can take the girl out of NY, but not the NY out of the girl. Thanks for a wonderfully evocative trip.
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When my father retired many years ago and was asked if he would be moving, he always replied, "never past Brooklyn."
I have cousins born on Long Island, living in Indiana for 40 years that still call themselves New Yorkers, and they are.
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Superb!
So glad there are still Brooklyn Dodgers T Shirts.
I didn't live in Brooklyn, didn't know enough about baseball to be a fan, but all my Bay Ridge Cousins were mad when they left, so, of course, I had to be mad too.
We lived in New Jersey but our trips to Bay Ridge were always loaded with fun and adventure. It seemed like heaven then.
She walks between the horses, touching their painted manes, their glass eyes, the poles that impale their hearts.
This paragraph alone will stay with me. Well worth reading!!
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I’m not crying - you’re crying!!
Ok. I’m crying.
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Past wrapping the present ! Yes!!
But Past wrapping the present w a ribbon ? May be ....
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Who doesn’t wear tshirts?
@Sandy People whose waists have disappeared and whose bellies are filling the gap
rising rents and real estate mean that so many who left because of circumstances can never come back; their single family ranch in a flyover state that appreciated at 10 percent a year can never give them a purchase point in the ny real estate market where values have multiplied ten fold
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Beautiful, from a Flatbush girl gone from Brooklyn a long long time ...
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wonderful writing. i’m buying your book.
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It’s the same song. But the music is different. We want what we left behind, till it’s there. Then we smile. We don’t need it anymore.
It’s the same song. But the music is different. We wanted what was left behind, now we don’t.
We’ve move on, and we don’t want that bit all that much, either.
Memoir writing spins the spinner. Which of us will strip the denial and cut deeply to what matters?
At 81, I ask. Who knows? Who wants the past?
We are now condemned to relive it. Some hide. Some elect fiction.
No one tells the truth. No one dares.
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Thank you so much for this poignant, evocative, and beautifully crafted story. You are a gifted writer and recorder of the ineffable qualities of love, human experience, and time. More like this one, please!
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The Mid-West was where my home town was and finally...yes, finally...post-high school I ran away to live in the city of my dreams as presented in Hollywood movies and books I’d read. New York City. Would it live up to my imagination or end up disappointing? Ta da! Applause. New York City lived up to all my expectations. Unlike the mother described here, my nostalgia was not of a place that once was but of a place to make those memories to be relived in the future.
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What a beautiful read! Thank you New York Time for publishing this beautiful written work. Such a relief amid the chaos presented in this morning's news.
lovely!
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A beautifully written piece -- thank you for sharing it!
I am fortunate in that my mother has lived in the same apartment since 1952 and although I left NYC in 1980, I visit several times a year and have watched the gentrification of Chelsea over the years.
I tell my children (and will tally grandchildren this spring) that it's a much nicer neighborhood now than when I grew up.
My mother and I walk down the street and remember which store was Mr. Stern's deli and where the shoemaker was. Almost everything has changed so that even the businesses we considered "new" have been replaced.
The Chelsea Hotel remains, still recognizable even after a 7-year facelift and the library across the street is just dirtier.
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yes. a lovely story
but the missing link here is alcoholism every so delicately woven into this tale
tell me the real story of remembrance past not some sentimental voyage
selma
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@selma
"tell me the real story of remembrance past not some sentimental voyage"
Sometimes they're the same.
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Fortunate to be able to return with my mother to her village in present day Lithuania, I was astonished how much she remembered even though house and farms were long gone. I feared it would be bittersweet for her as she fled in front of advancing Soviet troops, but it wasn’t. She recounted many good memories and many hardships of that life. it was a wonderful trip for both of us. And I gained a clearer understanding of who I am and the lives that contributed to that.
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This is a superbly written piece.
Sometimes, going back to your childhood home isn't what you thought it would be. We tend to embellish our childhood haunts and experiences. We want to remember them as they were.
Over time, things change. Neighborhoods are gentrified and only a few things remain as they were. Let the memories stand as they are and find meaning and comfort in their existence.
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Lovely. Thank you.
This brings to mind the way I visit places from the past. We used to move around every two to three years most of my childhood, so I don't have any long term connection with any particular place. I am probably the most connected with San Francisco, where I went to college. I live close to there so I visit fairly regularly and have actually worked there a couple of times while living down in the Silicon Valley area. However I'm still taken aback by all of the changes that have occurred over the years. Places I used to frequent have disappeared, whole neighborhoods are extremely different than they used to be and the overall variety of the population is very different than it used to be.
However I sometimes am able to experience some place or some thing as it used to be and it makes me think I understand how your mother felt when the song was the same.
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My 93-year old mother grew up a block or two from the LI Sound, in Neponsit, Queens. Every spring I ask her if she would like to take a ride to see the house and she always says there’s no need. She may be on to something. Last year while driving from Baltimore to Massachusetts, I took a brief detour to visit our house of 52 years in Teaneck. It was under construction and so unrecognizable that I drove past it, and had to turn around when I got to the corner. The crew let me go inside, where I saw the old living room being turned into a dining room and a massive addition doubling the size of the house growing off the back. Sometimes you can’t go home again in real life, and maybe you shouldn’t.
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beautiful and so evocative. I marvel at how time is like a rubber band - the “now” and the “past” as one sometimes” - especially on the anniversary dates of my parents’ death. how can it feel like yesterday AND 16 years ago at the same time?
THIS is what this lovely essay captured so perfectly. the last sentence brought me to tears: “it’s the same song! It’s the same song!” what a perfect story. Thank you!
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Lovely writing, lovely memories. Although born in southwest Detroit, my parents moved to the downriver suburbs to raise us. Nothing will ever compare to the comingling of these urban and suburban cultures. We visit Detroit regularly because it restores us. I agree that walls, buildings, streets, and trees absorb the energy and stories of those who live within and around them. While I cannot interpret their exact messages, I am thankful that I can feel their energy.
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Thank you for this beautiful piece. After 55 years, I just went back to my childhood neighborhood in the Morris Heights section of the Bronx. While I was not as fortunate as your mother to have so many physical landmarks left, I had enough to make it a surreal and supremely satisfying to me. It was a dream come true.
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A sad and touching account of family. I left New York at age 18 and settled in a small city on the west coast, Portland, where I still live, 49 years later. In both big NY and little Portland I've said sad goodbyes to stationery stores, bakeries, movie theaters in the neighborhood, coffee shops, affordable rents, mom-and-pop anything, etc. This is what happens if a place is to 'grow,' I guess.
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This article actually made my cry. What a great well written piece. Thank you so much!
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@Mike L
I also cried a bit, remembering my grandmother. We grew up in Astoria, and she would always wave goodbye at her window whenever we left her home. This farewell continued into the late 1970s, when she died - she was the last to leave the old neighborhood.
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Thank you for the column. I cried when I read it. I left NY 55 years ago. It never left me.
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This is a lovely piece. Thank you for the memories.
The Third Avenue El no longer exists but I can still 'see' me
riding high holding my Mary Hartline doll.
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@Patrish
I can smell the Bond's bread bakery across Flatbush from the Carousel I just rode 'while I read' -- but I'm particularly 'fixed' on Ebbets Field -- just 'down the block' -- and in the memory of long walks to Ebbets from President St. between 6th & 7th, holding my Dodgers-loving Dad's hand ... and upon arrival and wonderful occasion, seeing Jackie [Mr. Robinson, that is] and the Boys of Summer play.
(I love and loved Dad and baseball so very much, and Jackie too -- even as I myself worshipped [and yet worship] "The Mick." [Mr. Mantle, that is.])
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I hope my daughter will take her Mom on a similar trip when it's time.
For now, I'll continue to make life worth remembering for both of them.
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“ Her parallel lines have intersected. “
Thank you. Simply beautiful!
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Same story, same song for a "Bronx girl" now 82. Thank you for the lovely memories beautifully written.
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Beautiful. As we age we carry our ghosts with us don't we? I see mine sometimes; do you see yours? They swirl all about lightly, effervescent in a mist, but they are there. I suspect as we go along the mist thickens, right up to the point where, when the world goes grey, they reach out and carry us away.
John~
American Net'Zen
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@John i witnessed this happening at both my Mom and my Dad's death. Hours away from death my mother said "I know it's impossible, but I saw my father in the hallway" Five months later my father said "They're all there, in the backyard,; the Garments, the Parsons, the Laskers...." He died an hour later.
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What a lovely story. The sad thing is that as gentrification persists in New York City, these types of stories will likely become rarer, because former residents will return to see that the old buildings--including their houses--have been replaced.
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@Barbara A sad story is told by those who grew up in Detroit. My schools were demolished, childhood neighborhoods now barren of houses, commercial strips of party stores and nail salons interspersed with plywood covered windows. I view it only from satellite maps, the reality too distressing. Let me recall memories and look at our old photos instead.
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Thank you, I loved this. My memories are of Atlantic Beach and the small town in Long Island where I grew up. I remember distinct smells and my thoughts. We cannot return in time but the memories are so comforting. Now, I will look for that Brooklyn Dodger shirt.
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Thomas Wolfe was right. You can’t go home again. It may still be there, but you are the one who’s changed.
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What a beautiful and moving piece. Lovely, Lorraine.
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Brooklyn Dodgers, do or die
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Wow! Exquisite & haunting. One of the strongest images is the author’s unfortunate Grandmother waving goodbye, never seeing her granddaughter again. I hope the Grandmother’s story is developed in the coming book; clearly a powerful ghost in the house. Looking forward to reading it.
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Laraine, that was so beautiful and wonderfully written. I was there with you and Mom the whole time.
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Sweet! Like going home. Happy Saturdays with my Father and my First brother. We lived within walking distance.
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What a fabulous, evocative story.
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Fantastic writing. It's like I was actually there riding the merry-go-round with Laraine & her mom. I can hardly wait until it's on the bookshelves.
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This is exquisite! Can not wait to read the memoir.
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The same song carries us along . . . I had taken my mother to places she grew up in another areas, and learned of places relatives I never met once lived. And she, too, had a chance to relive episodes of her youth, only with her daughter alongside, a little miracle of time travel.
What a beautiful way to say this: the " the past wraps the present with its ribbons."
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So beautiful! Those ribbons may fade but they remain strong!
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Beautifully written!
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Beautiful! Cheers to you, Laraine!
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Wow, Laraine. This is wonderful. I shall go share on FB, which is where I found it.
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Beautiful story Laraine, thank you. This line..."I keep telling her the past wraps the present with its ribbons. Yes. Perfect.
I sometimes drive past the house I grew up in in a little town on the opposite side of Manhattan from Brooklyn. The huge old trees my mother loved are gone, all cut down to bring in more light, I suppose. It's changed, and it's still there. Mom would be sad, but it's clearly not our home anymore.
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@SH Rosen
I might be the worst of saboteurs of my beloved Brooklyn -- having lived in Manhattan for these last near-50 of my 71 years so far.
But I return frequently, including every year's Annual Carroll Street Boys and Girls' Memorial Mass, Stickball Game and 'after party' in the St. Francis Xavier "Lyceum."
(And the streets of 'my' Park Slope … which we call "South Brooklyn" … as it was in the Breukelen 'of' history … are unchanged. Now the rents … that's another story. There were no condos then … and I knew nothing of Brownstone purchase-prices. I just know now that I can't go home to anywhere near my President St. between 6th & 7th 'homerooms' because today's prices there 'pin me' to life in my Upper Eastside high-rise.)
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We don' t have to physically go back to the old neighborhood. Today, there's Google Maps. (yes, I've done it.)
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Oh yes we do. You can’t get the sights and smells you remember from Googlemaps. You can’t touch the walls, walk on the same sidewalks or different ones, talk to the proprietors of the old shops still there, sigh over the changes. Google maps. A poor thin excuse for going home again.
I left Brooklyn 47 years ago. I miss parts of it still.
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@C P Sowell And you can’t if you grew up in a city like Detroit.
This is such a lovely story. As someone who has lived far from home for many years, I could almost y feel the joy your mom felt when returning to all those places.
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Just lovely. Your story makes me miss my own mother, and makes me realize that now I’m of an age to want to see where places were, and where they are.
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Lovely story. Thank you for sharing.
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