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mattsingermusic:

Today’s “All Your Joy” submission is a moving piece by Isaac Daniel Perez. He paints a vivid picture of his childhood memories growing up in Brooklyn and what brought him JOY during those years. Please, have a read…                                       

                                      Under The Bridge: By Isaac Daniel Perez

I grew up  in Brooklyn Heights, New York.  At a time when the neighborhood was filled with faces of all colors, cultures  and creeds.  From doctors to teachers, Muslim’s to Jehovah’s Witnesses,  you had to be quite daft to be prejudice, where I was raised.   I went to Public School Eight,  located on the corner of  Middagh and Hicks St.  which till this day makes me cringe, when it comes to mind.  From the teachers  to the smell of the lunchroom,   just the thought  brings  back some of the worst memories a child could have.  I  can still remember the faces of each teacher who literally told, a ten year old version of myself,  that I would never amount to anything, thank you Ms. Cooper and Ms. Reichbach.   But this isn’t a written piece about what school did what to who, or even a complaint shy of twenty years.  This is a keeping,  if you will.  A  work in progress.  This is about  the escape from the bad times and the hiding place us kids would go.  A place where the night was meant  for laughs,  and the days would only lead to reflections.  

An Anchorage stands at the foot of Old  Fulton,  behind a rusty, chained gate.  Hundreds of cold cobble stones laid before  a picture perfect  view of Pier 17.  The  Brooklyn Bridge hangs overhead and what appears to be an empty lot,  is actually  filled with clairvoyant moments and endless memories.   As you gaze over the East  River,  you can see the Manhattan traffic heading back and away.  At  night the buildings which make up the city, would light up the sky  and sounds of the wind and traffic  would hide  between the conversations and smiles.  This was our Sanctuary.  In one part of Brooklyn Heights,  which would  have  seemed  like a ghost town  to some,  children who went to school’s such as  Saint Anne’s,  Packer  and  Brooklyn Friend’s would meet,  not  to forget  other’s  such as myself,  who went to school in the city, but  still  lived in Brooklyn Heights.  Just  as teens would sit upon stoops and drink beer out of forty ounce bottles,  smoking cigarettes,   blindly staring their future in the eye’s  all while  discussing  solutions for all  the world’s problems in a naive  yet  still  ideal tone.  This was our stoop.  We called it the U.T.B.

We would gather on Friday nights,  by the dozens.  Skaters,  graffiti artists,  ravers  and of course  your  stereo typical  “Cool Hippy Chicks”.  Such a  truly diverse crowd.   For most Brooklyn Heights natives, there are no words that could explain the impact  the bridge would have.  There is almost a spiritual  element that exists.  Maybe it was just a mutual feeling in the air,  but every face within the great  circle  could understand and appreciate whatever  it was.  This would lead to the release of one’s  guard,  the relaxing feeling of being one within a  crowd of people  and having the same love for the scenery.  I  would hear friends talk about other sites of New York,  such as  the Cloisters in the Bronx or the abandoned docks of Van Brunt in Red Hook.  You could walk  through these places and feel the same type of energy.  Maybe it was the desolation of  each  neighborhood.  The kinds of places you would almost feel threatened to sit and stay,  yet  at the same time, appreciate it’s beauty  which lured you to stay.  The feeling of security without truly being secure,  almost  like the feeling you get  when  sitting  atop  someone’s  roof .  A  stunning site  just as  precious as it is dangerous.  

It’s been about  a decade since the  U.T.B.  was  shutdown,  but  I  can still  remember every  inch,  crevice and crack.  Beautiful memories  of  walking  along the cobble stones,  the seven different shades of grey which made up the somber  looking structure of a bridge.  I  remember  sitting  by the water  on top  a white cold  rail,  which lead you from one side of the abandoned  lot ,  all the way down to the other.  Sometimes I  would sit there for hours,  with  no one around.  Imagining and drawing up  such great expectations  for  my  future,   as most of us did.  No matter where I was emotionally the bridge  always  influenced  the  process of  my  self-development.  Because of  the  Brooklyn Bridge,  I  have  found shelter where there was no shelter.  A  great  love for something that  only a  few will be  able to feel,  for that era is gone  and last but certainly not  least,  appreciation for  who I am, where I’ve been and where you and I are headed.  That is joy my friend. 

Till  this day  I  make travels into the neighborhood,  which is now referred to as  D.U.M.B.O.   I  gaze at  a new population.  They push strollers down  streets  that still seem darkened  and  gloomy  to me,   They drink in bars and eat at restaurants,   where I  still see shadows  of  alley cats running  down the street. It will forever  be more than  they  can  see.   It will forever be changed.  It is a time  at it’s best.   For every decade  who had the privilege to  roam  under the bridge,  I’m sure the memories  are held close to their hearts.   I can’t begin to imagine how many people have felt the  same connection  my friends and I shared  and  still feel.  I hope it’s something that none of us ever lose,   cause at least for me,  the U.T.B.  shall always  be the reminder  of  who I am.  The End

We want to know what brings you JOY. Find instructions here and you’ll be entered in our “All Your Joy” contest, in conjunction with Matt’s new album, The Build, available May 1st.