Excerpt from unpublished work "REVENGE" by Eduardo Cruz

1)
103rd street west Spanish Harlem New York City, that's where I
grew up. I mean that not just in the physical sense, but also in
the mental street sense.

Being brought up in Spanish Harlem is more than living in a
neighborhood, It's a state of mind, of being a Puerto Rican in
New York City. In other words what you are is a Neuyorican.
No one in the world can claim that title. It belongs to all the Puerto
Ricans who were born in New York. Those that were born on
the Caribbean Island can't claim the title, but together we are all
Boriquas (Brave Lords).

My first realization that I was a Neuyorican happen when I was
10 years old. My father Nando, took us on a ride through the
Lincoln Tunnel to Patterson, New Jersey. We went to visit some
of his family.

My fathers family lived in a thin sliver, called a Town House. It had
three bed rooms on the second floor, the living room, dinning
room and kitchen were on the first floor. They also had a family room
in the basement that doubled as a guess room. 

My brother who was 13, my sitter who was 7, were introduced to
the family. we had never met them before. Everyone was speaking
in Spanish. After the introductions we were lead through the house
to a door in the back of the kitchen that opened to the back yard. We 
went down five steps and there was the back yard, if you can call it
that. The yard was 15' x 20', it had two benches on each side against
the fence. when you sat on them you felt like you were intruding on
the neighbors yard. At the far end there was a barbecue that was
made out of a 50gal drum, and a picnic table made of wood that
my fathers  brother who was a carpenter had built himself. 
The whole family was out there. There was so many people out in
the yard that it felt like a crowded elevator, except it wasn't moving.

In New York we lived in an apartment that had three bed rooms,
in the projects. To get to our apartment we took an elevator to the 12th
floor. Our back yard was central park, one of the most beautiful parks in
the middle of Manhattan. The park was my jungle, my woods,
my Puerto Rico.


My cousins were a bit strange to me. They didn't speak Spanglish like we
did in New York, theirs was white America and Spanish. While ours was a
mixture of  Black, White, Spanish, and street. My cousins had a little trouble
understanding me, phrases like " can you dig it and that's a bad mother
jumper" they would stand there with gaping mouths. It seem to me that they
were from a different world of picket fences, dogs in the back yard, drives to
do groceries, and a garage for there car. Why would anybody need a house
for their car. The only fence I  knew was the one that was suppose to keep
us off the grass in the projects. We had a Bodega on every other corner within
walking distance, to buy groceries. We never had a dog, it just never made
sense to keep a dog in an apartment. Our cars were parked in the street, and
twice a week we would have to move them for the street cleaner.

On our drive back to New York I ask my father, Papi are they Puerto Rican?
My father began to laugh and said, Negrito (a term of endearment meaning
my little black child) they are more Puerto Rican then you, they were born in
Puerto Rico (rich port), your just a Neuyorican who can speak Spanish with
an American accent. We who are born in Puerto Rico consider you who are 
born in New York Gringos. The word Neuyorican started to roll around in my
head. I felt like I was less than my cousins. Right then and there I decided to
learn Spanish the way my Papi and Mami spoke it, I did not want to be a
Gringo.

2)
My mother Confesora, God bless her, has a heart bigger than her purse.
Every thief and junkie knew my mother, from west 92nd to 116th street. When 
they ask for money my Mom would give them a dollar, if they were hungry she
would give them a plate of food. I asked my mother, Mami why do you help these
thief and junkies. Papi says that their the scum of the earth.
If you ever again use that kind of language, I will slap your teeth right out of your
mouth.
Mami that's what Papi said, those are not my words.
I want you to listen to your father, but I don't want you to speak like him. He learned
his English in the street, but your learning yours in school. So learn to speak
responsibly so you can go farther in you life.
Mami you still haven't answer my question, why do you help them?
I help them because they need the help. I've lived in this neighborhood for fourteen
years, and I have never been mugged or robbed. I know every thief and junkie by
name. What has it cost me, a dollar every now and again, a plate of food. That's
nothing compared to the peace of mind that I've gained. It's not just that, when they
see me coming weighted down with groceries they help me carry them to my door.
They also know everything that's going on in the neighborhood, their a great source
of information. Always remember that "everyone on Gods earth has something to
give, you just have to know what you need and how to get it from them".

Those words I never forgot, they were the words that kept me alive in the streets of
New York's Spanish Harlem. Information isn't free you must give a little of yourself
to keep one step ahead of the other street gangsters.