Back Yard Buddy

When my family moved to Greenwich CT in 1983, it was a culture shock to me. My entire life I had been called a white boy and now, for the first time, I wasn’t. In this new environment, I was vividly different. It wasn’t just the color of my skin. It was the core values that I was brought up with. In my opinion, I was raised to be tough outside of my home and submissive and obedient inside. I was trained to live a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde life. In Mount Vernon and the Bronx, NY, this lifestyle was accepted as normal because most of the kids I knew had similar expectations in and outside of their homes. Where I was coming from it was normal to see one of your friends get beaten in public. Greenwich was different, I mean REALLY different. For the first time in my life I saw kids talk back to their parents. They listened in school. However, they took their frustrations out on their parents. This was not true for everyone. However I had never seen a kid talk back to their parents when I moved to Greenwich. I mean I saw it, and it had harsh consequences. Like having a fight with Mike Tyson before he became the Champion.

I was uncomfortable and scared as a child in Greenwich. Sports saved me. I was athletic and even though I had never participated in organized sports, living in Greenwich offered an abundant amount of opportunities to play sports. I met most of my friends through sports and it eventually became my identity. I was good at almost every sport I played. Even floor hockey. Which when I was a kid was not a sport that black kids knew how to play. I wanted to try ice hockey until I went ice skating at the Dorothy Hamilton Ice skating rink and spent two hours hugging the wall and falling. I eventually learned how to ice skate, just not good enough to EVER play hockey. Being a black kid from New York brings a certain reputation. My reputation was that I was tough and good at basketball. I was not tough, I was scared, and I was not good at basketball. I could dribble. Where I was from, you could not play basketball on the real courts. The older kids would not let you. So we would play games of basketball using garbage cans or shooting between the two bars that held the baby swings. I used to try to go to the real courts before the older kids got there. At that point, they would use my ball for the game. I never saw that ball again. I never said anything about it either. Why? That meant I would get beat by my dad because someone took my ball and then I would have to go back out there and try to get my ball back. Beaten two and three. The third beating is by my dad for not getting my ball back. Yea it was like that. Like I said this was the 70’s and I was a young black kid. This is how it was.

I met my backyard buddy Marc in school and we became cool because he beat Joe Kasmarski in “horse”. In Greenwich, we played “horse” in gym class and it was a big deal. When I faced Joe in the 5th grade Championship I was nervous as can be. The entire 5th grade was watching and at the time I could not shoot at all and Joe could. He beat me. I felt like a failure. Where I was from black kids dominated basketball and to lose to a white kid was embarrassing. Joe lost to Marc, a 4th grader and I think he even beat the 6th grade champion. I looked up to Marc from that point on even though he was younger than me.

Marc and I started hanging out and playing sports with each other everyday. He taught me how to play baseball. It sucked at first because we were both yankee fans, so when we played and had to pick teams, he was always the yankees. That was the only team I knew. It forced me to learn about another team. I did and it was the St louis Cardinals. I learned about all of the players such as Willie Mcgee, Tom Herr, Jack Clark, Ozzie Smith, John Tutor,Vine Coleman and Joaquin Andujar. Andujar was the reason I chose them. We pronounced our names the same. Marc lived on the second floor of his Grandparents house and that had a lot of open space in the back. He basically had a mini baseball field set up there along with a basketball court and an area of this grass where we played football. Marc was the best baseball, basketball and football player I knew. He never played football with us. I believe he would have been the starting QB of the Greenwich High school football team.
Marc did not look like an athlete. It was probably because of his glasses. He was goofy looking and we would call him Kurt Rambis ( A pro basketball player who wore goggles). I am sure many people made the assumption that he was not as good as he was and they paid the price for underestimating him. I remember him loving the Nets in Basketball which was cool because I could choose the Sixers, Lakers or the Knicks when we played. I can clearly hear him commentating the game as we played, saying Otis Birdsong!, sounded just like the Nets Commentator Steve Albert. I feel like my early childhood was predominantly spent with Marc. If we were not playing sports we were collecting sports cards..

On rainy days we would play nintendo at his or my house. He put me on a snack I still love till this day. Ritz crackers and cream cheese. It was something I never thought about until he made it and it is a go to snack til this day for me. Thanks to Marc I began to feel I belonged in Greenwich. His mother and the rest of his family were very nice and I never felt uncomfortable in their presence. I was extremely insecure being around other kids’ parents when I first moved to Greenwich. I felt like I was being watched and judged. I never had that feeling at Marc’s house. I truly felt a part of the family when I was over. I hope I made them feel the same way.

We grew apart as we got older. He loved baseball more than basketball. I thought he was better at basketball but his passion was definitely baseball. He was always one of the best pitchers around. I played baseball because of him. I liked it but was not in love with it. Also baseball season went into the summer break and I was never around Greewich during the summer. Marc in my opinion was my best friend during my younger years. As kids you grow up and apart. The bond that was created never goes away even when time and distance take our lives. When I drive through Greenwich and pass his home I smile. If I am with someone that doesnt know Marc or my neighborhood, I tell them that my best friend Marc lived there. In my eyes, we still live there because as I write this I see my friend Marc striking me out, or hitting a corner jump shot in my face.. SWISH!

July 15. In 2019, his life came to an end. I had not seen him since 1992. I couldn’t cry because I had no bad memories of him. I just remember us playing, laughing, competing and being kids. Our relationship as kids was colorless. I was just the new kid in the neighborhood who needed a friend, someone who would accept me for who I was at the time. That’s how I felt. Years have gone by and I still wish I could swing the bat, throw a pitch, drive to the hoop one more time, with my backyard Buddy.
Thank you for being my friend Marc!