My Summer in Brownsville, Bklyn

by Ray Levine

In years past summer vacations provided an escape from home. In those hot and humid days (no air conditioning) I had lots of time to indulge in many physical activities. My two friends - one Polish, the other Italian – and I were always playing ball, shooting marbles, roller skating, jumping rope and picking daisies. My quiet activity, when quite young, was reading fairy tales. As I go older the libraries’ books gave me much pleasure and the library provided a quiet place to do my homework. While in high school my homework and reading were done seated at a table by myself up in the library balcony.
Betsy Head’s Boys’ Park in which I played for 21 years, had swings, a child’s swimming pool, a tennis court, tracks for running, etc.
For five cents we could go swimming for one hour. Sour-faced matrons doled out a towel, soap, and a cotton bathing suit.
We sunbathed on tar roof. An occasional nickel, bought from a vendor outside the swimming pool, a hot dog about 10 inches long!
In high school, at the age of 15, I passed the life saving test given by a member of the Women’s Swimming Association of NY. After swimming a number of laps, diving, treading water for a number of minutes, I had to rescue a fat girl from drowning and by myself pull her into the canoe. I really earned that life-saving patch for my bathing suit.
One day, sitting at the side of the big swimming pool, I saw a girl drowning. My first attempt at rescuing someone taught me to remember the rules. “First break the person’s strangle hold on your neck or you too will be pulled under.” The safety guard rescued the two of us.
I was lucky to live in a neighborhood where people came from many different countries. We all got along well. There were very few black people there though.
The above items merely touch upon a few interesting memories.

Winter Trees

by Florence Glucksman

Stripped and bare to the eye
Your majesty shorn by time
You stand versus gray sky
Naked and exposed
Hardly a look, as we pass you by
Rushing against the cold
A bird alights
only to continue, its southward flight.
Slight and lean you seem to us
Without your greens, so plush.
Obtuse, we do not grasp your strength
In the winter of your life, you stand strong not weak
Shedding the fatness of fall
Gone the charms and freshness of youth
In their place, you rise, a giant
Integrity and age, your might,
Your power, you endure
Fullness and beauty renewed
You bear the fruit of yet another cycle
G-d continues in you.
In old age
Can man wish
But to live through
his seed??

Grow Old with Grace

by Rose Smeenk

Time takes its toll
As we grow old
Can we do it gracefully?
Look to the future expectantly
Keep your youth in mind,
To yourself be kind
Try to preserve your health
Staying fit is more than wealth.
Eat right, keep busy, have friends
Don’t quarrel, make amends
In society, do your part
Face the future with brave heart’s release
Cherish it and live at peace.

My Sister Delseta

by Iris [last name excluded at author’s request]

This story about my sister Delseta starts with my brother Ken and me. Ken and I had to wake up very early every morning to help out on our family’s farm in Jamaica, and we often had to help out after school, too. Our farm had animals – chickens, pigs, goats and cows, and we grew yams, sugar cane, mangoes, cabbage, cucumbers, peppers, peas, coffee beans, and cocoa from which chocolate is made. We sold the fresh milk we got from our cows. There was always so much work to be done.

Sometimes it was cold early in the mornings, and the lower parts of our clothes got wet. We had many chores to do before we went to school. We had no choice that’s what life was about on the farm.

With Delseta, it was another story entirely. Delseta was the youngest of us six children. She was six years younger that I am. She was dark and pretty and the prize and pride of our family. I loved her very much. I used to love to bathe her and comb her hair and get her all dressed up.

When Delseta was about seven years old, a teacher in our school, fell in love with her, and asked Delseta if she would like to come and live with her. I thought the teacher was joking, but no. She came to our house and asked my parents if Delseta could live with her. Think it over, she said. After she left our father said, if she is looking for a maid, she is out of luck, but if she wants to help our family I’ll consider it.

The teacher returned soon afterwards. She and my parents had a long talk about the terms that would have to be in effect if Delseta lived with her.

Delseta would have to be treated right and not used as a maid. Finally my father agreed. He knew that if she remained with us eventually she would have to help out on the farm and there was no way he was going to let that happen. Delseta was the apple of his eye and he adored her. He loved her so much that any time she misbehaved, he had an excuse for her. With Ken and me there were never and excuses, just punishment.

Delseta lived with that teacher until she became a woman, the teacher took good care of her. Delseta went on from primary school to high school and from there to college, where she became a teacher herself. My father was always happy that Delseta fared so well, and our family benefited, too. In those days, our family’s income from the farm amounted to very little, still we made do, and we were a very happy family.

Secretly, I wished that the teacher had chosen me, but deep down I knew that that could never be because I was needed on the farm, and I loved my brother Ken and my parents too much to leave them. Being needed is gratifying, too.