Saving my Streets
The name is Vinny. This is my neighborhood. It has been since my grandfathers' grandfather. My whole family grew up on this block. It's changing, but I'll never leave. You can say I'm your average kinda guy, you know "blue collar" or whatever the rich people call us. I go to work everyday at the plant, and come home every night to my wife Angela, and our two cuicci's. That's sicilian slang for "little pains in the asses." Nicky and Gianna are my world. I didn't think I could love anything that much until I looked into their baby eyes when they were born. My family, next to my friends, is the most important thing to me. I do everything I do for them.
South Philly is my home. It always will be, no matter how bad it gets. This is our block. When I was growing up, me and the boys used to hit the park after the school bus dropped us off. I remember we'd go even if it was snowing or raining, just to be kids. Mama always had the macaroni and gravy ready by 5, homemade bread and all. I'd run home by 5, eat my supper, do my homework and go to sleep. I loved being a kid. I'm still a big kid, and my boys are still my boys. The days were simpler then. I miss those days. Nicky and Gianna will never know days like that.
Tony and Patrick grew up down the block from me and are still my best friends. You know, the kind of friends that would take a bullet for you. Those kinda friends are hard to find. We aren't wiseguys. That's an insult cause we are hard working guys. Plus, we keep our neighborhood together. Tony likes to act like a big tough guy, but inside he is just a big old teddy bear. Patrick ain't even Italian, he's an Irish lad, as ginger as can be. But we gotta love him anyway. They all got kids and wives too. You might want to call us, the protectors of the street, since the whole old neighborhood does. We like to keep things straight and safe round' here. Things have gotten so bad since we freely roamed these streets. We all get our kids now from the bus stop and walk them home.
Every Friday night, Tony and Patrick usually come over to my place, we play some cards, throw back a few lagers, and just BS about our weeks. Saturday mornings, we take our boys to the park for little league practice. Last Friday was not the usual. I remember we were sitting outside cause it was a nice night, cool and breezy. Tony heard some yelling and screaming down at the one corner. The corner that we don't let our kids walk by anymore. That's where some of those crackhead guys hang out. We don't bother them, and they know not to bother us. Tony, you know the tough guy, said he's gonna walk down there and check it out. Patrick, of course, told him to "leave it alone man." I remember the look of rage on his face as he walked away. Our neighborhood hasn't been the same since the drugs showed up, and Tony was the first to take care of things like this. It used to be peaceful here. Kids playing on the street all night long, running in the fire hydrant in the summertime and all the adults sitting outside eating and talking. You know, like a real community should.
Tony walked right up to this big group of guys lead by the little punk with the big mouth. Tony had no fear. They were all screaming and cursing their heads off like crazies. Patrick and I stayed back and hoped for the best. I could hear them yelling about missing drug money or something like that. Then I heard Tony say to take it somewhere else, and get off our corner, cause our wives and kids were sleeping. I heard the gun shots. I ran. I saw Tony fall to the ground. I saw those crackheads scream bloody murder and scatter away fast. I watched Tony die that night in my arms. I held him tight. I cried. My heart hurt and the rest of me was furious. The cops and the hospital people came way too late. It was that night that I decided to take matters into my own two hands.
South Philly is my home. It always will be, no matter how bad it gets. This is our block. When I was growing up, me and the boys used to hit the park after the school bus dropped us off. I remember we'd go even if it was snowing or raining, just to be kids. Mama always had the macaroni and gravy ready by 5, homemade bread and all. I'd run home by 5, eat my supper, do my homework and go to sleep. I loved being a kid. I'm still a big kid, and my boys are still my boys. The days were simpler then. I miss those days. Nicky and Gianna will never know days like that.
Tony and Patrick grew up down the block from me and are still my best friends. You know, the kind of friends that would take a bullet for you. Those kinda friends are hard to find. We aren't wiseguys. That's an insult cause we are hard working guys. Plus, we keep our neighborhood together. Tony likes to act like a big tough guy, but inside he is just a big old teddy bear. Patrick ain't even Italian, he's an Irish lad, as ginger as can be. But we gotta love him anyway. They all got kids and wives too. You might want to call us, the protectors of the street, since the whole old neighborhood does. We like to keep things straight and safe round' here. Things have gotten so bad since we freely roamed these streets. We all get our kids now from the bus stop and walk them home.
Every Friday night, Tony and Patrick usually come over to my place, we play some cards, throw back a few lagers, and just BS about our weeks. Saturday mornings, we take our boys to the park for little league practice. Last Friday was not the usual. I remember we were sitting outside cause it was a nice night, cool and breezy. Tony heard some yelling and screaming down at the one corner. The corner that we don't let our kids walk by anymore. That's where some of those crackhead guys hang out. We don't bother them, and they know not to bother us. Tony, you know the tough guy, said he's gonna walk down there and check it out. Patrick, of course, told him to "leave it alone man." I remember the look of rage on his face as he walked away. Our neighborhood hasn't been the same since the drugs showed up, and Tony was the first to take care of things like this. It used to be peaceful here. Kids playing on the street all night long, running in the fire hydrant in the summertime and all the adults sitting outside eating and talking. You know, like a real community should.
Tony walked right up to this big group of guys lead by the little punk with the big mouth. Tony had no fear. They were all screaming and cursing their heads off like crazies. Patrick and I stayed back and hoped for the best. I could hear them yelling about missing drug money or something like that. Then I heard Tony say to take it somewhere else, and get off our corner, cause our wives and kids were sleeping. I heard the gun shots. I ran. I saw Tony fall to the ground. I saw those crackheads scream bloody murder and scatter away fast. I watched Tony die that night in my arms. I held him tight. I cried. My heart hurt and the rest of me was furious. The cops and the hospital people came way too late. It was that night that I decided to take matters into my own two hands.
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