Page 8 - confessions1

“Heard!” The streets hear you but do they really step in to help? Or do

they just keep worrying about their station and acting like they really

want to help? That’s how neighbors do. They know you need help, but

they just look on and “hear” you. They’re so worried about their own

mess that they don’t have time to worry about yours.

Meanwhile, in the dish pit they are scrambling to keep up. No

matter how many dishes they wash and how they try to dig themselves

out of the mess they’re stuck in, inevitably somebody else walks up and

dumps some more trash for them to clean up. They never have a

moment of peace but they just keep pushing through day after day.

Even when it looks hopeless, they still carry on and work harder than

everybody in the kitchen. Because they have no choice. The dish pit is

the bottom of the kitchen society but it is the breeding ground for some

of the strongest individuals you’ll ever encounter. The front of the

house staff come in and out and in and out all day, and although they

see what’s going on, they’re just passing through. They never really

stop to help nor do they care to. They’re oblivious because it’s not

really their territory and they get to come and go as they please. The

kitchen has always felt so much like North Philly to me, and has

continued to be the greatest metaphor in my life of the hood and it’s

struggles. But, I digress…we’ll talk tackle that beast later.

Many days I prayed for God to get me out of that place, but North

Philly wasn't the problem. 4847 North Bouvier Street was. It was my

prison. It was where I learned about abuse, and where I learned the