Date: July 16, 2011
Score: Brooklyn Cyclones 5, Lowell Spinners 4 (box score)
photos from the game
Coming into The City on the cushy Dartmouth bus, on a summer Saturday morning, we passed through the Bronx, which was my home until I was six years old.
I was surprised at how the flat-fronted yellow brick buildings and the chain-link fences brought back distinct memories of my family’s life on Sherman Avenue: the smell of the cigars smoked by the Italian man with the big moustache at the fabric store; the creak of Mom’s foldable grocery cart as we trundled along the sand-colored sidewalks back home from the A&P; the flicker of tenements burning on those nights in the mid-’70s.
My parents had come to New York from rural Pennsylvania as volunteers in the early ’60s, members of an alternative service program that allowed Mennonite conscientious objectors to do humanitarian work instead of serving in the military.
Mom’s family – Lancaster County strawberry and celery farmers – were especially scared about the newlyweds moving to New York. But Mom and Dad liked The City, and lived there for 13 years, while Dad worked as a schoolteacher and a pastor and Mom raised us and led the neighborhood Bible School. We moved back to PA when my brother, Daryl, was three years old, too young for him to have any solid memories of life in the South Bronx.
But now he lives in Brooklyn, and I was coming to New York to visit him and his girlfriend, Deborah, in their new apartment in Fort Greene. I also hoped to see a Brooklyn Cyclones game, out at Coney Island. I wondered if they would join me. Neither is a sports fan, and they had planned to see a Brazilian percussion concert later the same evening.
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Posted in Essays from the Games | Tags: family, Red Sox, Single A