When I was in 2nd grade, I recall living in a
dingy apartment with my parents and two sisters. My parents were getting
massively ripped off since they didn’t speak English. But it was the same guy
who rented us the apartment also leased the restaurant space my Dad just bought
down the street. So it was easier to deal with.
We lived above a hair salon. During the summers the place
was so hot and muggy we had to walk a few blocks down to the community pool to
cool off. We had a token we’d sewn to our swim trunks to show we had paid the
fee for the use of the facilities. The Pleasant Ridge community center was a
nasty predominantly Black place where I’d get into fights constantly. At first
I thought it was because I was an Asian dude in that community. Only to
discover later on, ALL kids got into fights, all the time. Being 7 years old
sucked. Too small to fight like they did in movies. Too big to beat up the
little kids in frustration of getting walloped on by the big guys.
I recall being a pretty timid kid. I would shadow my oldest
sister Jenny. She was a pretty cool calm person. Quiet mostly. She would walk
me to the community pool and keep an eye out for me. Parents would be at work
all day. SO we were on our own. Debbie, my other sister ventured out on her
own. The place was usually packed. It was the 80’s so Madonna or The Cars would
blast through the speakers at the pool. Can you imagine that? Today it would be
brain-deadening shit that electronica drone. Or low bass hip-hop that riles up
beehives.
I didn’t realize this before, but it seemed all so different
now, the lifeguards were probably 18 years old, but they seemed like legit
adults. I thought they were old. But, they were just kids. I can’t even imagine
how my niece sees me. Like some old guy. But I only know this, because an
ex-girlfriend of mine lifeguarded at a similar community pool in Maryland, and
when I went to visit one year, she told me they were cheap bastards who paid
teens to watch over the kids. They were CPR trained, but I can’t believe an 18
year old today would be that responsible.
During the winter, our apartment was so cold, we’d huddle
next to the clawfoot radiator. The thing hissed through the tubing. It was
painted over with some sort of sealant. Probably lead based. And we’d hang
socks on it, then quickly throw them on our feet, then pull blankets over
ourselves. My parents had their own room, the three of us shared. I’d usually
end up on our 70’s style sofa. I don’t recall ever taking baths in the winter,
because it was so cold. Plus, at 7 you don’t really have B.O. yet.
I remember also one day my parents being out. My sister
Jenny usually hid out and read a book and generally ignored us, unless Deb and
I would cause noise. I got the bright idea one day to mop the hardwood floors.
Deb dumped a bucket of water on the floor as I ran the mop across it. Clean
floors and the folks would be happy.
A few minutes later we heard a pounding at the front door.
Jenny leapt out of wherever she was hiding and came into the living room. We
stared at each other, freaked out to who could be on the other side. Our folks
had drilled into our brains “NEVER OPEN THE DOOR!!” Jenny is a pretty fearless
person. So she crept to the door and peeked into the peephole. Jenny turned to
us. Hard to read her expression. She shrugged. Deb and I took positions behind
the couch. Me, still armed with mop. To Deb and my surprise, she clicked the
lock and pulled open the door. There we were standing and looking in mouth open
awe. Two grey-haired ladies standing at the doorway visibly angry. I’ve never
seen White women angry before, to my recollection…well, not THIS angry. The
fatter of the two pointed to me “You!”
I was taken back. I understood English but had no idea why
she singled me out.
“Don’t mop the floor. The water is leaking from our
ceiling.” I didn’t have time to snitch out Deb for pouring the water on the
floor. And I was too scared to move. So I just stared at the mop, hoping they
would stop looking at me. Old White ladies are scary. At that age, they could
be aliens. I think they were more shocked to see three little kids at the other
end of that door.
“Where are your parents?!”
We didn’t answer. Jenny was the more defiant one of us all
and just stood there smirking.
The skinnier one seemed to be the kinder one. She simply
said “Well, don’t open the door for other strangers. And stop mopping.” They
looked at each other, almost perplexed at what they saw. Three Asian kids just
standing there…alone. When my folks came home around the afternoon, I recall
Jenny got an earful about opening doors to strangers. To which I recall Deb
maybe defended her by saying it was a couple of old ladies downstairs. That
didn’t really soften their position. Immigrants don’t need any spotlight on
them.
I went back to that neighborhood now 34 years later. A hair
salon is STILL there. I didn’t venture to see if those are rented apartments
now. Only that the neighborhood is gentrified into a hipsters paradise. The bar
around the corner has a bazillion craft brewery. And the comic book shop, where
I spent countless hours staring out of my window praying I could cross the
street to look inside, moved away, came back and moved away again, and then
came back again. It had a really cool corner spot, that was the angle of the
corner. Old school looking. The building was old, but it had some awesome
memorabilia, once I was old enough to venture to it, a few years later and when
we moved to a house a few miles away.
It gets me thinking about the independence of children
today. There are none. The town where I grew up, the kids banded together and
went out into the woods to explore. We’ve found old abandoned houses, played in
junkyards, made treehouses. Never under the heavy hand of adults. They were
pretty much what you saw in most “Muppet Babies” show or “Charlie Brown” a
disembodied voice of authority through some filter. We would go to construction
sites and set up shop. Go play ninja and sneak into the ol’ country club golf
course under moonlight. I pity the children today who will never experience
that freedom. Either we’re too scared now, or things have gotten worse through
what we know. The world, and generations below us really need to feel empowered
with the fact that a psycho religious zealot isn’t going to shoot up a school
or club. It seems nowadays, the knowledge we’ve got at our fingertips make us
more fearful than less.
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