The Bronx, the BX, the Boogie Down; call it what you want, but regardless of what you decide to call it, just respect it for what it is, which is exactly what we the Bronx People want it to be; it’s home. And if you can’t understand it, then listen to a story from any of the one-million plus residents who embrace, embody and encompass this beautiful piece of land. Born and raised in the Bronx for the first nineteen years of my life, this magical borough is the reason why I am the man that I am today and no matter how far away from home I move, I’ll never forget where I came from.

 

The Bronx:

 

If you ever been to The Bronx, it’s no question that it’s a touch over crowed, but it somehow works itself out with the 50+ neighborhoods within it, and for not receiving as much recognition as our sister boroughs, not including Staten Island, we’ve always made quite the statement and we did pretty great as far as bragging rights go. We are the birth place of hip hop, I like to say we invented Stickball (google it if you’re unfamiliar) and we had a handful of notable residents ranging far and wide, from famous actor Al Pacino, music icon Billy Joel, graffiti pioneers SEEN & COPE 2, and the newly famed TV talk show host and comedians Desus and Mero. And last but not least, we have the greatest thing to ever happen to sports franchise history, The New York Yankees.

 

For all of the people who have ever inhabited the Bronx, the good ones and bad ones, the rich kids and the poor kids, black, white and all other ethnicities alike, we all lived out our stories here and did the best that we could. We each have our own individuality and we have an undeniable authenticity and honesty in our souls that allow us to identify ourselves and stand out from the rest.

 

Growing up:

 

I grew up in the Kingsbridge section of the Bronx in a lower-middle class, broken home of Irish-Puerto Rican parents and even though times were tough more often than not, there were a few key treasures that made both my brother Paul and I smile as kids; as well as all the other kids in the neighborhood. Living without luxury, we thrived on getting into trouble and good food and this is where the Bronx shined through. There was a pizza store on every block and more importantly, we had a pizza store on every block. We lived on greasy pizza and Jamaican beef patties. Give a kid a slice of good slice of pizza and watch all of his or her troubles go away. On hot summer days in the park there was “Helado”. It was flavored ice of some sort from a guy pushing a cart who spoke no English but six words, “coconut, cherry, rainbow, mango and thank you”. Where ever the man peddling this sugar ice came from, he was our savior in the sweltering July heat after summer school.

 

Years before the internet was even a thing, we lived outside in the streets. On the weekends, you only stayed inside if you were in trouble with your parents and when we were outdoors, we congregated on the “stoop” of the building. We would sit on the concrete steps for hours into the late night talking shit and finding new ways to get ourselves into trouble. I could never put into words what exactly was so appealing about the stoop of one’s building, but it will always be the best seat on the block.

 

We walked up and down the same street all day long with mischief on the mind. During the day we stole candy bars from the Middle Eastern owned candy store, bought smoke bombs from the Dominican Bodega and threw them into kitchen of the Chinese restaurant next door. And when the sun went down, we would smash out a couple of car windows for cheap thrills. It was our world and we did whatever we wanted. We had to make the best with what we didn’t have. We we’re kids just trying to have a little fun without growing up to fast, plus who was going to catch us anyway.

 

Education:

 

Fortunately and unfortunately for myself, I’ve toured the Bronx in more ways than I wanted to from attending summer school for the greater part of my education. I wasted numerous summers in; Saint Margaret’s of Cortona in Riverdale, Saint John’s in Kingsbridge, M.S. 141 in Riverdale, Walton H.S. in Kingsbridge, De Witt Clinton H.S. in Kingsbridge, and Christopher Columbus H.S. in the Pelham Bay area. I would return to a few of the same schools for multiple summers.

 

I never did well in school; I always had issues whether I was getting held back in the fourth grade for failing to understand basic mathematics or getting kicked out of catholic school in the sixth grade for harassing a priest. I had much more of a desire to receive my education from the streets, soaking up knowledge from what I would see on my way to the city bus stop.

 

I didn’t want to do summarize books and write essays for homework, I wanted to live off the street and get my thrills from life on the corner, not in the back of some class room studying fractions and world history. I wanted to piss on the side of the local Supermarket wall while I took a drag from my cigarette. I really just wanted to feel alive. And years later into my teens, after I found myself pissing on walls while smoking a Newport 100, I realized that it wasn’t as cool as I thought it would be, but hindsight is always 20/20.

 

Transportation:

 

As far as transportation, there was plenty of that and seeing how all of my friends didn’t own a car, we had to utilize what we could from New York City mass transit, also known as the MTA (Metro Transportation Authority).

 

I lived near the #1 and #10 buses and the #4 train, but I usually took the #1 train near where my Grandmother lived. With the little money that I usually had in my pocket it was easier to hop the turnstile of the train to avoid paying the two dollar fare. Sometimes I wouldn’t have enough money to get to my destination and then back home, so I would hop the train on my way down so I could have a guaranteed ride back home.

 

Whether we hopped the train or paid, we couldn’t wait until we could ride in between the subway cars. There was an intense rush that was almost orgasmic while standing out in the open air watching life go by at what seemed ten times faster than through the window. The smell of rust filled my nose and the force of the train pulling me back against the sliding door was amazing; I guess knowing that there was a slight chance that I could die out there was also a rush. When the train was above ground I would watch the faces of all the people on the street; I always wanted to know what they were thinking and if they were happy. I like to think they were.

 

Friends:

 

As my friends and I grew older there was more of an opportunity to have fun and get into real trouble. And now enters responsibility, as well as drinking, drugs, girls and the mind set of not really giving a shit. Now I’m seventeen and now I feel like I’m invisible as well as my group of fellow delinquents. For the record of nostalgia, there was my brother Paul, and then there was Danny, James, Steve, Pat T, P.K. (R.I.P.), Chris, Tee, Joey, and myself with the occasional drifters. There were some arguments here and there and a few minor scuffles but for the most part we were a pretty tight knit crew. You could usually find us glued to a keg tap at our local park and smoking something strange until we couldn’t function anymore.

 

Nights on the shore of the Hudson River were both classic and unforgettable to us kids. We would walk down West 254 Street off Riverdale Avenue to the Metro North train station, walk alongside the tracks (balancing on top of the third rail cover of course), and walk about a hundred yards down the tracks to end up at one of our many hang outs. This one particular hangout we so cleverly titled the “beach spot” due to the little patch of sand there. Cool summer nights at the beach with cold beer, good friends and a half-polluted, half-star lit sky with a view of the George Washington Bridge and New Jersey were some of the best nights of our lives. We didn’t ask for much, only cold beer and good company.

 

In the after hours during hot summer nights, we would go pool hopping in the more affluent neighborhood of South Riverdale. It was both exhilarating and liberating. Behind the Windsor building, off the corner of West 249 street and Henry Hudson Parkway, we would scale a tall fence, tip toe past the security lights and break into the life guard cabanas so we could steal their beer. We got drunk and floated around the pool in the dark, intentionally disregarding the outside world and all our problems. For those few minutes, we were different people, we owned the world. We had no worries or faults. We had our youthful innocence back despite what we were doing.

 

AFTERTHOUGHT:

 

I’ve had good times and bad times growing up in New York City and there is nothing that I would ever change from how and where I grew up. I made lifelong friends and lost loved ones here. I made great memories and some I wish I could forget, but nevertheless, I own where I came from. The Bronx was my first friend, my first high and sometimes it was God to me, and no matter how far I stray away from the avenues of Gouverneur and Sedgwick, I will always call Kingsbridge home.

 

*The opinions and ideas expressed are solely those of the author, and may not reflect the opinions of The Bronx Brand*

Richard DeFino is from the Kingsbridge neighborhood of the Bronx. The Bronx showed him that the outcome of any situation can be beautiful, no matter how ugly it started off. Also, adaption to your surroundings is essential for survival and he was influenced by all of the survivors that he met over the years, whether they were family or friends, good or bad. We all survived. If he needed to ditch school because anxiety was crushing him, there were countless neighborhoods with plenty of friends to sit on a stoop and share a beer and a laugh with. The Bronx is far too big to get lost inside your head.

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