Yesterday, I walked the Brooklyn Bridge with my step-dad who works in Chinatown. I met him in DUMBO and we walked together to his work. I had gotten the idea from the texts and realized I had actually not been on the bridge since I was 7. I had grown up most of my life in Park Slope, but lived for awhile in Brooklyn Heights and the walking the bridge was a common activity for me and my dad.
It’s amazing that doing something that simple as walking a bridge can bring such a torrent of emotions, but it did. I recalled many aspects from my childhood that were forgotten when walking the 1 mile across the bridge. All the memories of that time when I lived on Henry St. came back to me; the summer days playing football and basketball in the park. The innocence of childhood that was combined with a faint melancholia.
It was as if the bridge served as a bridge; a gateway into another time, place, and mood.