Why I Love Living In Brooklyn

When we first arrived here in Prospect Heights, it felt so right. Maybe it was being right by the park. Maybe it was being close to shops and cafes, or being on a tree-lined brownstone block. It also felt right to be just a couple blocks off Flatbush Avenue - because my father grew up in East Flatbush, far southeast of this neighborhood.

My grandparents immigrated from Hungary to Brooklyn in the 1920's and my father (and his 5 siblings) grew up in the glory days of old Brooklyn - watching Dodger's games through holes in the fence at Ebbet's Field; scrounging for bottles on the beaches of Coney Island to exchange for pennies ; accompanying my grandfather who sold canned goods to grocery stores on runs to Williamsburg; attending Yeshiva (and hating it); living just down the street from Jackie Robinson and meeting him during high school; going with my uncle Albie to the grand movie palaces like the Paramount - and later going on double-dates there. But my dad, like many upwardly mobile Brooklyn children of immigrants, yearned for the sophistication of Manhattan. Once he'd finished law school at NYU (going nights so he could work days and send money to his mother) he moved on up into Manhattan and never looked back.

Growing up, we would occasionally visit my the relatives who remained in NY - my Uncle Walter and Aunt Doris in Queens, and my Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Al in Brooklyn. Of course, if you asked me now where it was that Aunt Sylvie lived I couldn't tell you. Until now. My cousin Andrea, Aunt Sylvie's daughter, wrote the following response to my posting about pizza. I love it because it weaves together life in Brooklyn (past and present) AND a classic story about my dad :

I read your blog and laughed when I saw you visited DiFara's. Did you know
that was the neighborhood where I grew up? Yes, Avenue K, one block down.
Only it wasn't an Orthodox neighborhood when I was a kid. Over the years
it's changed drastically. I've been reading all the rave reviews about
DiFara's for the past couple of years and have been meaning to go back
myself and see if it's as good as I remember. Those were the days when you
could get a slice AND a coke for 25 cents! I remember when I was a little
girl your dad (who had just passed the bar) took me there and I asked him
what the difference was between regular and square slices. His answer?
"It's the same thing, but different." Right then and there I knew he had
chosen the right profession!!!!

Thanks for sharing, Andrea, and helping me connect the dots!