and Flushing. My story is about 40 years ago.
My maternal grandparents lived in a beautifull big white house
on Hart Island. Pop was the Superintendent of the Welfare
Dept. There was a huge shelter there for homeless men.
memories of Hart Island are the most cherished of my life.
I lived all over the world when I was young, but every summer,
if we were in the US, we'd go to Hart Island. There I learned
to ride a bike, skate, spell, and pray. Pray because there
was a solitude on that Island that made it easier for you
to concentrate, and it gave a message that even a young kid
could understand. (I found out that there was no Santa Clause
during one visit.)
good portion of my formative moments are linked with that
Island. I spent many Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays there
loving it and never wanting to leave. My heart will be there
forever. The poor and the homeless have the one thing that
I want the most and can't have, a beautiful place to rest
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