WordPress informs that the next essay (this one) will be my 100th posted to LeavingWest83rdStreet.  What to write for the 100th essay is a serious question. The first 99 have brought me friends, old and new.  They have brought me great joy.  They have brought memories to my consciousness that might otherwise have been lost.  They have made me think in greater depth about friends and particularly about my family. 

The boy who grew up on West 83rd Street passed through many things.  The group of boys who lived in 222, supplemented frequently by neighborhood friends (hi Jon) shared many experiences and many people.

There were the children of a dentist, a lawyer, a writer (that was me).  The other parental professions are lost to the ages, if they were ever known.

I find myself drowning in all this, unable to pick one soul or one untold story that merits this placement.

So, I do nothing new except send a message.

To my faithful readers, Thank You.

3 thoughts on “ONE HUNDRED

  1. I’m truly touched, Ken, to have been singled out in your 100th recollection of our boyhood hood. Contrary to the perceptions of my adult friends here in the midwest, where I’ve now lived for over fifty years, it was a happy place to grow up in. Never mind that the local odor was of newly put out garbage, not newly mown grass, or that kids like us had to be sent away for the summer to escape the oppressive heat rising from the pavement. We had all the makings of timeless memories that you’ve so vividly recalled ninety-nine times. Congratulations and thanks for bringing them back for us, and I look forward eagerly to 101.


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