Except In

During the early years of my time on this earth I accepted the reality of limitations.

I understood the quota of my abilities and placidly believed I could never cross the boundary line injected into the bloodstream of those who shared life in Hells Kitchen.

I knew there were choices I hoped to avoid, i.e. owning a newspaper shack, (it was so cold in winter) despite listening to neighbors whisper that the owners of the one on a nearby corner were “millionaires” because they sold more than the Daily News or

Pushing a rack of clothes across 7th Avenue in the frenzied garment center. I knew I would spill the rack of beautiful garments and be forever disgraced.

Yet I placidly accepted the reality that the neighborhood owned us, one and all.

And I was not unhappy, until one day when I was 16 and like the fabled Snow White I awakened, And it wasn’t with a kiss, it was in a classroom tucked in the Grand Central Terminal with a framed picture of Katie Gibbs on the wall.

I listened in awe to the expectations of other young women in the classroom,

And suddenly, I knew I did not have to stay west of the park unless I so chose.

Ironically, recalling the naivety of youth, happiness never seemed to enter the equation.

Rather it was my own lack of confidence, feeling of unworthiness once I crossed the mythical border of The Park that evoked fear.

Quite recently, a granddaughter mentioned my bulging wardrobe and the “importance” of garments in my life.

And I wondered if she could ever understand, clothing was the armor that provided access to the “other side of the city.”

The garments were never originals, and always inexpensive, yet surprisingly good copies of the designs flaunted in the glass windows of the Fifth Avenue corridor.

They provided the necessary ticket to acceptance for those of us who eventually moved quietly across the boundary of the memorable city that always had an affection for territory.

Flight from the familiar had little to do with emotion or perhaps even ambition. Rather it was the unknown that lured us to cross the invisible barrier to acceptance.

And also little realization that once we crossed, we could never really return except in memory.