"...history"

 

Wrote this a while ago. Once upon a time: We all start somewhere. See above our extended family home on East 127th Street Harlem. House on left. This in 1950 more or less. The house shared by my Aunt Sybil aunt Agnes, and my Ma Carmen. My Aunt Agnes, and my Ma lived there till they bought their own homes in the later 50’s. Aunt Sybil, and her family stayed till the early 1960′s.

Back then even as new immigrants do now. One house is brought, and the extended family moves in. Mom, and dad lived on the second floor. I’m told I was nearly born there. No plaque as yet.

My Uncle Clyde…designated maternity driver. His car a ‘49 Ford nearly didn’t start, but he got us there.

We stayed close as we all grew up. The families visited near every week. Tho’ we lived in far parts of town. One moment I’m digging holes in the back yard when Dad yanks me up into the old Buick. Then I’m digging holes in my aunt’s yard. Only now with my cousins.

We were always taking in relatives as they came through NYC from the Islands. I remember folks just showing up and staying for a while. This in all of the family houses. Like grandma taught. Always cook for more. Ma did, and often. …a good thing too. This as cousins’ friends of family connections of affection passed though. As kids we thought this was normal. Folks just came and were treated as family.

History is hard to see when it rings the doorbell bell. When it’s that close. We were witnessing part of the Second Great Migration North. The first from the Deep American South this from the Caribbean Islands.

Our folks never explained details to us. As kids were on our own to figure connections, and meanings. I just remember a happy blur amongst sisters’ brother cousins’ friends. That we all belonged together was unquestioned. We were family. We just were.