For my Sunday afternoon, I decided to take a walk through Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. Although from Staten Island, I spent a great deal of my childhood in this neighborhood. Most of my friends are also from here and I went to elementary school here as well. This walk was an overall reflective experience for me.

 

View of the bridge walking down 4th Avenue

I exited the S79 Bay Ridge bus at the 92nd Street stop. I step onto the sidewalk. This is all very familiar to me. I feel as if I’m about to meet up with my friends who live nearby. I walk up 92nd Street, passing by the many restaurants and shops along the way. I pass by pizza parlors, diners, bakeries, and several fast food joints. I feel the cold air pierce through me, touching my fingertips and nose. This is a very cold day. As I walk down 4th Avenue I see the Verrazano Bridge with the blazing sun in view. As I continue to walk I come across a man sporting a red book bag. He appears rather confused and unsure of where he is going. Perhaps he is on his way to a specific destination. Maybe he is waiting for someone. Maybe he is simply unfamiliar with this neighborhood.

I proceed to walk further down and approach my old elementary school, St. Patrick’s, located between 97th Street and 4th Avenue. As I stand in front of the steps I reminisce my time here. I remember waiting on these very steps for my mother to pick me up back when I was in Fourth Grade. A much simpler time, one that was less stressful in comparison to the present. “If only I could go back, just for a little while” I think to myself. On my journey I also pass by the church. I imagine a huge crowd was here earlier in front of the main entrance for Sunday mass. I then continue towards a local park down the street.

I approached John Paul Jones Park. The park is not so packed, but as I stroll through I pass by several people. One man bundled up in a coat walks his dog, a young teenage girl takes a selfie as she kicks leaves on the grass, and one elderly man sits at a bench. I then notice a young child with a soccer ball, kicking it around with what appears to be an older woman. From a distance I assume this is his mother, but as I walk closer I notice it is an older sister. I stand and watch very briefly. The child then fails to maintain control of the ball and it rolls towards me. I gently kick it back to the siblings and they thank me for doing so. This is too brings me back to my childhood. I see the boy and I am reminded of childhood innocence, back when the question was what games we should play at the park rather than what papers were due by the end of the week. I see the older sister and wish I had such a connection with my own sibling. I would usually go to the park alone with a grandparent and kick a ball around, ride a bike, or maybe simply have fun on the swings.

Shore Road Park

I then walked further down to Shore Road Park. You can get an even closer view of the bridge here. As I enter the park, I pass by a father rolling a stroller down the entrance ramp. I then see a mother watch her children, a son and a daughter, play a game of volleyball in the park’s volleyball court. This part of my journey reminds me of the importance of family. I walk alone but I see others enjoying their time with loved ones. Perhaps the child in the stroller, or even the two children playing volleyball will walk the same path as me in the future, reminiscing childhood memories as I am now. I understand from my trip that this is all a cycle. Everyone has their story to tell and yet the story remains the same. Only the characters change. Yes, I was once a character here, playing volleyball with my friends. However, my time has passed. I am now just a visitor. I will be back, but there are new faces to experience what was once routine for me. And so, it is time to go home. I board the bus and my journey comes to its conclusion.