Where did you grow up? I answer Park Extension, Eyes widen, jaw drops, You don't look so tough! Oh, but I am... And unpretentious too, In my neighbourhood, We spoke our mind, Mothers screeched in a dozen Different tongues, Home now or you'll get it! No family secrets, Arguments resolved on balconies, Where we spent summer vacations, Peeling away at grey chipped paint, While we slurped dripping purple Popsicles, Bubble gum blowing contests, Reading Marvel comics And swapping hockey cards, Dickie Moore one of our own, Hot like hell in the middle of a city, Where the air doesn't move, Trapped in concrete, No one has a lawn but Every backyard is overrun with Beans and tomato plants, One kid, the blond English one, Actually owns a bike, He gets to ride after we all Take a turn, One girl on each block owns A pair of rollerskates, She never knew what it was like To skate on both of them, I had the only wading pool, Six of us squished in And barely got our feet wet, Shake a few apples Down from someone's tree Then run like the dickens, Please no more sour green apples, Sick to our stomachs With pirated treasure, No one phoned ahead, Everyone just showed up, My house was Central Station, My Mom fed half the population On our street, An old man stopped by everyday For his espresso and Italian sandwich, No idea who he was or where he came from, He just came and went and then disappeared forever, We didn't know names, Everyone had a moniker, The Polish lady Across the lane, the crazy family, The Mayor of Jungleville, The Queen of Sheba, We knew instantly who they were, Kids ran amok the busy streets, Stinkbombs in the Legion, Hide and seek until midnight, Dads swilling cold ones Molson Export Ale, In between drags of Export A, Bike deliveries from the grocery store, Horror movies in the church hall Saturday matinees, The one bad boy we all looked up to, Offering a ride to school In a stolen car, 5 cent bags of candy From Beliveau's on the way Back from school, Ducking frozen snowballs, Crossing traffic at the age of seven, Only heard of one kid being hit The whole time I was there, The Catholics in Catholic schools, Everyone else in Barclay's, The Protestant stronghold Even if you were Jewish, No distinctions anywhere else, We hung out with each other, No religion, race or language mattered, Except the one time we tormented The French girl who ran from us, And dropped her ice cream cones Splat, all over the cracked sidewalk She tripped on, Her whole family showed up to protest And I tried my best to live it down, We got along after that, I soon knew how it was to feel Marginalized and pushed aside, The famous fence went up Along the length of L' Acadie, The townies claimed it was to Keep their youngsters safe, It was the sign that showed up The disparate lives we led, On one side the big rich houses And on the other the working class, It didn't keep us out....if anything It was a lure, Then finally it happened, The boys of summer saved us, Crowds milled through Park Ex, Off the 80 and onto St. Roch, Past the piggery, scaling the overpass To Jarry Park, We were there in '69, Learned all about America's Favourite pastime, Heard accents from Louisiana And Arkansas and other exotic places, Sat in Jonesville and cheered them on, Like old pros we were, Then they blew away like dust, And moved onto bigger and better, Like those in the old neighbourhood, Who scrimped and saved their pennies To stop renting....buying homes after Years in factories or building roads, And seeing how the other side of the fence lived, Desiring a little corner of their own, I left only to get married at The age of 24, Park Ex followed me, It is not a place really, But a state of mind, An experience that becomes you, My parents stayed on, My children getting a glimpse Of what made me who I am, I grew up in Park Extension, Grew older somewhere else. Copyright Silvia Fiorita-Smith August 14, 2020 Published in Growing Up In Park Extension |