The Parkway, I remember being hauled off to Brooklyn as a child and standing amongst the brilliant colors while my mother turned into someone I had never seen before. She was laughing, dancing, and smiling as she ate dishes from the islands. It sounded like a strange language. Back then, the parkway was like a portal to another universe.
I can only think how pleased my mother would be to see that I had totally embraced the culture and substance of our existence. The parkway, however faulty, was all we had. Our primary connection to home and a fleeting sense of belonging to something bigger. For many, the Parkway is the closest thing they have to a return to their roots. Not everyone has the luxury of traveling.
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