SYNOPSIS:

When a young girl lives in a ghetto, she doesn't see the poverty. She sees the community. She sees the surprise parties her friends get and the excitement of great Christmas presents the likes of which she has never seen but, she sees shining moments. The moments aways from an overbearing and religious mother she gets to send with her emotionally distant father once in a blue moon and always, ALWAYS on her birthday. Birthdays! Treasured days until...

THE LAST STRAW

The Last Straw Despite her mother's urging that she learn sewing, cooking and crocheting, Dana could not care less. After twenty botched ladders of crocheting, even her mother gave up. She was no better at sweeping or polishing the chrome legs on the kitchen table. She just wasn't very good at much of anything that had to do with women's work. When her mother checked her work she would always scream, "I knew you weren't doing it right! Do you know how I knew you were playing around, do you?" A purposeful pause would follow before the divine proclamation, "The Blessed Mother told me!" For a long time, Dana was amazed at the intimate relationship her mother and the Blessed Mother had. It made her afraid to think angry thoughts or answer back. Once, when she picked her nose in the bathroom, she actually looked up at the ceiling just to see if she could catch herself being caught. There had been a time when Dana had loved the church and a time when she would wonder if her mother were a saint. After being "caught" so many times at not just the little things kids do but things she hadn't, Dana began to doubt her mother's special "friendship" with the Holy Snitch. Then, catching herself in this blasphemy, she make the sign of the cross fearfully for she had not received first communion yet nor confessed and knew she'd just go to hell for even thinking like that. Today, Dana could not even let herself think for a second that her father would not have something special planned for her birthday. At least her birthday had always been that one special something she could always count on In the just before sixties era, the multi-ethnic community of Ocean-Brownsville in Brooklyn, New York was a ghetto not because of race, but because of poverty. Colorfully splashing this brownstone neighborhood were Jews, Irish, Spanish and Blacks. Although the Jews were the fewest in number, synagogues were still plentiful reminders of the time when this had been a Jewish neighborhood. Tenement and Brownstone basements were the churches of the Black Baptist congregations and Catholic churches were the furthest away. Our Lady of Presentation Church was a good two miles away, past Pitkin Avenue, so the growing number of Catholic families hiked their young ones to the eight o'clock mass every Sunday. Sermons revolved around the promise of another church that would be builtTen years later, when the Bishop came to bless the newly built "Our Lady of Mercy", these people of poverty filled the church beyond even standing room. Children were nudged forward as the Bishop passed, each parent hoping their child would receive a special blessing. The marble altar and gold chalices glowed as if enhanced by a special man's blessing. The following Sunday, so many people came to mass that an ecstatic Father Judge declared a new goal- which would also be built with the pockets of the poor as foundation. These people of poverty now had a new a school to build. Reverend John was an obese, red-eyed Black man whose congregation met for Sunday worship in his basement apartment. The rest of week, he often sat on the garbage cans outside his building. He would sit clad in the gray, pin-striped suit that had seen many Sundays. His tie always undone at the collar so he could swallow his paper bag beverage that more easily. A former sharecropper, his eyes were frightening. They held both sorrow and loss but each Sunday, his sermons would abound with the hope found in Jesus Christ. The jubilant singing could be heard on the sidewalk. Many a Catholic returning from mass walked in step to the singing. Reverend John never forgot the holiness of Sunday but, come Monday, he would be back on the garbage pails with his drink wrapped in a paper bag. As he sipped, his red eyes always reflected the wisdom of hopelessness. Monday morning also meant rushes to Mike, the Puerto Rican numbers runner where local gossip was exchanged in his cramped little store. He did a good business for amid the poverty there was still hope. Hope to hit on the numbers. "Daddy" was among the Irish who " walked the old 'dust floor'". Truth be told, Dana's father was a testimony that the tough Irish couldn't hold their liquor to squat. They did not know this, but the women knew. Like Dana, they knew the slur of the one-shot, the swagger of two, the maudlin sentimentality of three and the rage of four and beyond. "Going out" meant "Ireland's Eye" on Atlantic Avenue where a fraternity of third generation Catholic Irishmen met. Saturday was "going out" was Saturday and while the women took their children to Sunday mass, Sunday mass never attended by the men. Perhaps Irishmen were just too tough to be afraid of Hell. At least with a couple of drinks in them, anyway. Outside this mystery of Irish brotherhood, Dana ever pudgy and quiet was ever consumed with the dread of her father's "going out'' and return which was always announced with his calling "Dana!". She would rise to sit with him at the hated kitchen table where she would listen to a drunkard whine about life's misfortunes. She never considered that her mother pretended to be in a deep sleep so SHE would not have to sit at the table. Yet, Dana wondered about the liquor that brought about such rantings. What little she knew of her father was learned at these night 'talks" that eventually became talks whenever he lost a job which, was quite often. In the beginning, since this was the only time they ever talked, these talks took on a fascination of the ignorant. Whereas Daddy was colorful Dana loved the beauty of the Church. Gazing upon the stony, tortured figure of the Christ prostrate in pain upon the crucifix she would try to figure out who he had been and why he died like that. No matter many times she rethought her catechism, she could never find an answer other than anyone who died would go to Hell if he hadn't. The more she studied for communion, the more afraid she became of dying and Hell. Sparked by the picturesque sermons of Father Judge at the 8am children's mass, she would dream of fiery earthquakes into which she would fall screaming. Or she would dream of walking over the iron grating that imprisoned souls in purgatory. Their ghostly arms would reach through the bars, their hands grasping her ankles.Their agonizing screams would beg her to help them. Then there were the screams of the babies who, by no fault of their own, had died before being baptized and so drifted alone in Limbo forever. Determined to help all of them, she prayed and although all the medals and mass cards the nuns at mass gave her for knowing how to recite the whole mass in Latin soothed for the moment, fear would return. After all, it would not take much to be damned in Hell forever. Even death after missing mass and before confessing it sent you to Hell so, she simply never missed mass. Then she fervently took upon herself the task of praying for all the souls in purgatory and those in Hell as well. It didn't seem fair that they probably all wound up where they were because of poor timing but, she prayed all the more hoping that enough prayers would buy the release of souls from their suffering and in turn, her own. Learning the catechism well, she twisted the fear of Hell into the lie of loving Christ. One never knew what they would do next. "Those spirited boys" were how they were generally known and their mother, a small, broken looking Puerto Rican lady had her hands full. Stories of their pranks would get around fast. After all, this was a neighborhood that could use a good laugh now and then. There was the time, Romero had whistled like the dismissal whistle during playtime and all the kids went home early leaving Mrs. Shankin, the gym teacher to march around the school yard by herself while Hector followed mimicking her march and her beating the drum. Though their pranks were not without humor, they were annoying to authority figures. Especially the prank played in church when a visiting priest gave mass for a flu ridden Father Judge. They listened and responded respectfully enough during the mass, smiling like beatific angels. Relieved they were being so good, their mother had not been prepared for their going up to receive the host when they had not yet received first communion. Their mother said the rosary everyday in church for a month in an attempt to atone for the sacrilege of her sons but, not before she slapped each of them silly in the courtyard of the church after mass that day. Hector and Romero laughed as she slapped. The harder she slapped, the louder they laughed. Onlookers just assumed those spirited boys were not going to lose face in public. The truth was, they had expected be caught. How could they not? The whole church knew they had not received First Communion. They expected to be punished. What even they hadn't expected was the satisfaction that there was no punishment harsh enough to stop the gratification of their nasty tricks. Upon first meeting Hector and Romero, they were thought of as frail, almost effeminate looking. This quality appealed to teachers, nuns and mothers and led to them being "pets" until one by one each person saw them for the little creeps these "spirited boys" really were. They loved fires! As they would stare at the flames lapping up old building like snacks and at the mighty men that would come in like giants in their hats and axes. On more than one occasion their mother said she prayed every night that they might grow up to be firemen. After all, they were always first on the scene and first in the line of view. Then there were the other pranks. The pranks that defied authority or divinity. The pranks that were not funny but done just because they could. Like the kitten incident. Hector and Romero too small to speak the day the super was plastering a whole behind the stove to keep mice out. They saw the curious moving fluff of fur go behind the stove. Shortly after, the hole was sealed. They looked at each other in agreement. For days after, their mother wondered what their fascination with the stove could be that they would sit for hours at a time seeming to listen for something. She did not know they were listening to the muffled mews of entrapment until they were heard no more. Assuming the kitten had run out the door, their mother brought in another cat who soon had kittens. When they were old enough to see and be out of the box, their mother allowed the cat and her litter out of her bedroom. Hector and Romero would take turns playing "rescue" with them. They'd place the soft, rubbery necks between their thumb and pinky fingers then slowly squeeze. Little pink tongues would jut through the tiny lips frozen by nature in a smile and always, just in time, they would let go and watch the labored first breath and then the muffled cough. They would then hug them and kiss them all under the trusting gaze of the mother cat whom they petted throughout the game. They had never been caught. They rarely got caught. Spring break came around late that year and so summer. Neighbors enjoyed more leisurely strolls as they did errands. They would stop to talk to each other along the way to where ever they were going. Spring break, winter break and especially summer break was hard on Dana. During school, there was a place to just be, other kids and teachers that encouraged her to learn something new, to read books there or borrow some and take them home to read. School break time meant Dana with ran errands with her mother and did chores with her mother. It also meant no place to go to the day after a "going out" night which had became more and more frequent. Most days Dana's mother went to the Belmont Avenue push cart market to shop. As if the walk there weren't long enough, Dana's mother would stop and talk to every person she met. It seemed she knew everybody. Dana hated Belmont Avenue. It was always crowded on hot summer days, smelled of human sweat, pickles in wooden barrels, raw meat, chicken and fish. It smelled of rotted fruits and compost. Occasionally, vendors would brush the flies off the meats and fish and chickens. Sometimes, they would toss the old, gray towels that they had just wiped their sweaty brows with over their wares. The horses would stand in the hot, sun, amongst the rotting stench with heads dropped almost to their hooves. Their bodies were skeletal with age or hunger and if not for the very occasional flicker of flesh to shake off a fly, they stood in dumb defeat. That summer, the whole neighborhood was buzzing about a very young senator from Massachusetts who was running for president. Word went up and down Belmont Avenue that he was for the poor but, he was also for "the Coloreds". What bothered people the most, however, was that he was Catholic and this just got Dana's father mad. Now finally, there was another topic to rumble about. The story of Dana's father minor league team days, lost to a broken ankle now gave way to the rage toward the prejudice against the Irish and the Catholics. Since McCarthy was his hero, her father warned that the Communists were spreading rumors that if John Kennedy got into the White House, the Pope would be there running the country from Rome. "What would wrong with that? You got some commie bastard using up our money and court time because her son said a prayer in school! Godalmighty! I'm tellin' ya, all the Catholics are gonna come out and vote!" He would declare because according to him, people hated the" Catholics more than the Jews that run this country" and so on and so on and so on. While the nights brought conversations of things she cared little about, the days brought real news of real changes in the neighborhood. One afternoon, there was a knock on the door. "Did you hear?" Mrs. Podolsky practically squealed as the door opened. "I'm moving!" Moving. Miss But-in-sky, as Dana's father had called her, had always been in this neighborhood. She would tell stories of her youth in Oklahoma when she had been a REAL cowgirl. It was hard to imagine this for now, she was a fat woman with a square body and orange hair and small tiny square teeth with big gaps between. Dana had always been fascinated by her teeth. They were yellow and somehow always had red lipstick on them. "They bought the land across the street!(which was where she lived) and they're PAYING me to move! They're paying EVERYONE to move! They're going to tear down the buildings and put something else up!" "Where will you move to?" Dana's mother asked with a quiet interest that had not gone un- noticed by Dana. "I don't know right now. But, I will. I've still got a couple of months. It's all so wonderful! I could never had afforded to move before. But, now. After all these years, I'm getting out of this dump!" This was the first time Dana heard anyone say their neighborhood was a dump. It never occurred to her. This was all she had known. In a couple of months, everyone across the street had moved. The blocks up and down from there also became vacant. Dana's tenement now faced empty buildings which, for a time became the new playground for the neighborhood kids. Dana, ever vigilant and ever "the good little girl," would stare out from the front window watching other kids play. Now and then she wondered who THEY were that could pay people to move. Occasionally, the curious would pause in their walking to stare at the ruins. Then the big machines came, swinging their huge steel boulders from chains like pendulums, leveling the square block into the in between of the what was and the what was going to be. As the massive mess that had once been people's homes was carted away, the earth underneath was exposed. Dana had never stopped to think what was under a building before. It surprised her that the dirt looked like the wet beach at Coney Island. She had never seen such a big empty space before much less one that looked like a giant sandbox. She stared at the misplaced openness everyday. Then the men came. Men with filthy jeans, hard hats, backs straight and arms muscled. When it was really hot, they would go shirtless. The upper part of their bodies would brown and glisten with perspiration. Around the belt-mark, bits of winter flesh would rise as jeans slipped slightly down around moist hips. As the day went on and dust clung to their bodies, the workers became sand men with dirt dusted over bronzed torsos. Finally, an interesting something began to rise. New buildings went up- the tallest Dana had ever seen. There were at least twenty-five floors- aliens amidst the brownstones and tenements that remained. Each of these giants looked like each other, had nice little box shaped windows and were the color of dry sand. Each building had a lawn with grass and the biggest play ground Dana had ever seen. The windows in the projects (as they were called) were said to be quiet. It was said they went "shush" instead of clunking with weights when Dana's windows were opened or closed. As strangers began to move into the buildings, Dana did not notice the quaintness of her neighborhood begin to disappear. More buildings were bought but, never the tenement where Dana and her parents lived, despite her mother's prayers to the Blessed Mother. By this time, Dana no longer wondered about their relationship. It was about as good as hers was with Jesus. Some people stayed waiting for the payoff to move. Instead, buildings began to get condemned and people were forced to leave without moving money in their pocket. People would keep each other up to date with "Mary's left now. Jimmy's got 'til next' week." Then, they would be gone and never mentioned again. Dana figured they had to have moved somewhere and that the neighborhood just didn't talk about it. Eventually, it seemed almost everybody moved away. Now empty building fires began to happen. A lot. And there were plenty of them, firemen and fire engines. And Hector and Romero were always there. Getting a good view. The last fire had been Reverend Brown's basement church so now the good reverend and his building were gone also. Then Hector and Romero were gone. It seems they'd been drawing suspicion for sometime but, setting fire to a building with people in it was another matter. A schoolmate had overheard them planning and told the police but, not in time for Reverend John. Hector and Romero were never spoken of again either. On Sundays, that block was now silent for jubilant singing was forever absent. Nobody mentioned it ever again. At one time, Dana might have called such reticence the Irish way. But surviving is everyone's way. Especially in a ghetto. Suddenly, it was May and First Holy Communion would be made. Dana's mother had worked on sewing her dress for weeks, impatiently tugging at a fidgety Dana who simply had no interest in such a worldly thing as fittings. She finally, after passing her catechism test, would get to go to her first confession and be purged of whatever sins had been committed that would have sent her to Hell. The dark booth was scary. It was black inside . Dana hated the dark. She still had to go to sleep with the light on. Suddenly, a small door opened and through the scrolled metal screening, She could see Father Judge! Could he see her too? She was stunned. It was the "Yes?" by Father Judge that prompted her to recall what she had learned in catechism. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession." What could a seven year old confess? That she ate donuts before bed after brushing her teeth? That she could not help but laugh at the some of the pranks Hector and Romero had played? She also added breaking the commandment of honoring thy mother when she fidgeted during measuring her communion dress. In her heart, she wanted the houses people on TV had so she was envious of her neighbors. She also admitted she didn't like not having treats during Lent. She received a firm lecture that sacrifice during Lent was the least we could do to honor Christ's ultimate sacrifice. Then came "We must listen to our parents all the time...remember our Lord's family was poor...". She was given the penance of ten Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys that, if she didn't mess up, would ensure she not be trapped in Hell or Purgatory. Devoutly, she prayed on her knees in a pew knowing that for the moment, salvation had been secured. When Dana came back from confession, her father was already "out'. The next day, Communion Sunday, no one even tried to wake him up. It was useless to try. The other kids she knew from catechism asked where her father was so, on the day of First Holy Communion, she said her father had the flu. Ceremony over, joyous families and communion recipients left the church to their respective Parties. Dana and her mother returned home to an empty house where she took off her Communion dress, put on her pajamas and shut herself within the quiet of her room. She lay on her bed reciting, "Thou shalt not lie, thou shalt not lie". For some reason the drunk did not litanize that night. Funny, because she fell into an nightmarish sleep and would have welcomed ANY rescue. Come the following Monday, Dana desperately needed the reprieve confession would provide. No one dared discuss her father's absence from her communion- not by him, not by her mother and not by Dana. As if it hadn't happened, he just sat, read the newspaper and listened to the radio. As the week went by, her father merely stayed "in". Her mother seemed relieved during this respite while Dana, on the other hand, fretted herself to sleep all week during a time when she could have finally gotten a full night's sleep. Then on Friday afternoon her teacher told her she had been a runner up in the Fire Prevention Essay Contest of last year. She was handed a small wooden plaque. It was a miracle. It was as if God himself understood why she lied at communion. She would make it to confession now. She was so proud, she couldn't wait to show off her plaque. Her mother actually managed so smile. Even her father said how proud he was. At dinner, he announced he was "going out". Before he left, he took her plaque, polishing it quickly on his sleeve as he walked out the door. Dana opted for an early bedtime that night rather than watch television with a morose Mother. She lay in bed that night awake even when her father got home. She heard him call her, slurring her name , "D-Dana!" . And for the first time in her life, she pretended she was too sound asleep to hear. After all, he had just gotten drunk in her honor. Most of the turning points is all of Dana's years faded in and out of one another but, at least birthdays were special. It was the one joyful thing Dana knew that she could count on because her father had always been there for her on her birthday. The year of her eleventh birthday she sprung out of bed and dressed quickly in the navy and white sailor dress she had chosen for the day. Her budding breasts strained against the fabric and she sighed, guessing she must be gaining weight. Her attention though went back to her birthdays. Last year her father had taken her to a baseball game where his friend's son was going to be looked over by a scout from the major league. All the men stood together drinking beer while the son's father beamed. She didn't understand a lick about baseball but, she didn't care. Daddy had taken her into his world, everyone knew she was his daughter and she had been the only girl there. The year before last, they'd gone to a racetrack. She had never seen such beautiful horses in person before. All she knew of horses were the pitiful cart horses of Belmont Avenue. She knew today would be extra special because it was Saturday. Since there was no school, It would be a nice, long birthday. Having quickly brushed her honey-brown hair into two stubby braids plaited secure with ribbons, Dana rushed to the kitchen and sat eagerly. "You father's not home, yet." Her mother said quietly. Her eyes searched for Dana's pain but, Dana ignored her and went to the living to watch "Shirley Temple Theater", "The East Side Kids" and then two reruns of "Mighty Joe Young" on the "Million Dollar Movie". She could not allow herself to doubt that her father would be home any minute. He must have bought a special present this year. That's why he was so late. Dinnertime came and went. She and her mother picked through a wordless dinner. After dinner, Dana got up, undressed into her pajamas and got into bed. She pulled the covers up high over her head resolute not to listen to a drunkard's whining that night. As she lay, trying to reach for the solace of sleep, she imagined a party. The kind of surprise parties that some of her classmates had every year. It seemed she had just fallen asleep when heavy footsteps awakened her. She heard her name called and rotely rose sleepily to the kitchen where her father sat, bracing himself up in the chair by gripping the edges of the table. Her mother stood silently against the stove, wordless (as usual). "Mary G-g-g-race", he slurred. Who was Mary Grace, she wondered until he looked at her and motioned her to sit down repeating, ":Mmmary G-grace" as if christening her with a new name. She sat the table across from him. Her mother had managed to edge away from the stove and was now standing in the kitchen doorway. "I l-l-love y-y-you very m-m-much." He said reaching for her hand across the table. Dana glanced at the clock within the plaque of the Last Supper that hung on the kitchen wall over the table. It was 3:30am. Her mother, she noticed, was no longer standing in the door way . She had mange to simply skulk away. It was just Dana and her father now. At that damned table. Again. "Did you kn-know…" He began. "Naw!" He growled and waved an arm. "How could you when y-you d-don’t kn-know nothin'!" He sneered. "Well, I'm g-gonna t-tell you somp'em ." His eyes were trimmed in telltale bloodshot. "I was married before. I bet you didn't know that." Dana felt as if she'd been slapped. "Well, she died. Long before I met your mother. M-m-my first daughter also died. Her name was M-m-mary G-g-grace." He stared out past Dana to another place. Then he suddenly lifted himself slowly up from the table, dismissing Dana with a wave of an arm then stumbled toward the bedroom. As he staggered, he mumbled "M-m-mary G-g-grace." Dana remained at the kitchen table feeling like the second hand pieces of junk people would buy on Belmont Avenue. And so it was on her eleventh birthday that Dana began to hate.