"I want to go home where I belong..." ~ Lonely Teenager
And since Dion, the two remaining Belmonts and I are all contemporaries from the same neighborhood, I've no doubt they, too, wish they could turn back the clock and go "home"...to a time and place that no longer exists except in our memories, hearts, and every fibre of our being .
Quite seriously, the older I become, the more those memories occupy my thoughts, pull at my heart and leave me feeling blue as can be, and terribly, terribly homesick. How simple it was (and even if it wasn't, we were young and naive and had no way of knowing the social injustices of the time) how carefree and innocent, our only decision which comic book to buy, what flavor Italian ices on a hot summer day or which game to play.
Without going all treacly and nostalgic, making this just another "remember when" piece, I can honestly say that I have lived many places since leaving my original neighborhood behind, and the only place I think of when I hear the word "home" is that section known as Belmont, tucked away in the middle of the Bronx, a stone's throw from the world-famous Bronx Zoo and NY Botanical Garden.
A neighborhood comprised of mostly buildings, rapidly vacated as the city began to change in the late 1960s-early 70s, leaving it 'Little Italy in the Bronx' in name only...people aren't as 'loyal' to apartments as they are to a private home.
Oh, the merchants are still there, keeping the name alive, but for me it's a haunting ghost town I can no longer visit, it hurts that much to look around and remember. Every time I did visit, I left with a lump in my throat, my heart heavy with unshed tears for days or even weeks after. Seems the older I get, the harder it is to let go of what used to be.
Many stories have been written about this neighborhood, including Chazz Palmintieri's "A Bronx Tale" which presented the harsher side of living in a tough but lovable neighborhood. Was Chazz's representation of our neighborhood accurate? Absolutely, no question about it.
But there were other aspects of living in 'Little Italy in the Bronx,' particularly in the 1940s-50s that were as sweet and charming as any episode of Life With Father or Leave it to Beaver.
If there is a heaven, all I ask is that I can return to my old neighborhood, as it was when I was a child, and remain there for all eternity. That's how much it meant, and still means, to me.
Yeah, I have those homesick blues all right...but I've nowhere to go to alleviate them, except in my memories.
"Sweet memories are the paradise of the mind"
