Moving is something we absolutely had to do, but I won't front -- it's a bitch. Without airing too much of my dirty laundry, I have had to pull more strings than the Godfather to make this happen. Every available resource, every nickel in the piggy bank, every pubic hair I could pluck. That's OK. I do not, and will never, regret any sacrifice I make to improve our quality of life.
Our new street is clean, tree-lined and quiet. Our home-to-be is better than twice the square footage of our apartment, not including the basement. Within a two-minute drive, there is a colossal recreation center with basketball courts, an indoor track, weights and cardio machines, not to mention ballfields for every popular sport. It's ridiculous. And it's waiting for us. And [insert generic disclaimer such as "barring catastrophe" here] it's only 3 weeks away.
The prospect of leaving The Bronx evokes mixed emotions. Whatever I have developed into, The Bronx has been the Petri dish. I will always feel a connection to the northernmost borough of New York City, but I'm oh so done with people hopelessly enmeshed in the games I've seen play out time and again. Moreover, I'll be goddamned if through failure to act on my part, one of my babies gets caught up in that bullshit. No! People can say what they like about roots and community, but until fools stop shooting first and thinking last, THERE IS NO COMMUNITY. There are only kids dying young and ignorant or innocent bystanders dying in their place.
By the grace of God, I am 43 years old. Admittedly, I pissed away a good deal of my youth through ignorance. It is my duty to my wife and children to learn from the mistakes I made and pass that wisdom down.
Am I happy to be leaving the Bronx? Despite the history I leave behind -- or maybe because of it -- you betcha.
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