Maybe each of my days are an attempt to live a life as cool as Ferris Bueler. Every day is an opportunity to experience a perfect “day off.”

Today Joe and I went to a Yankees game up in the Bronx. Our seats were really good, in the shade just behind home plate. New Yorkers hold sacred a Yankee game. To hear their cheers, witness their rituals, and chant with them–what an experience. I felt kind of bad, being from Atlanta and experiencing some whipping from NY over the years.

After the game Joe and I caught the D train for a quick shot to St. Paul’s for Mass. It’s been a while since I’ve been to Mass there. The distinct aroma of the varnished wood pews, polished marble columns, and painted frescoes brought good memories of earlier this summer, when that church was my refuge from loneliness, fear, and heartbreak.

:::

In New Orleans, my friend Jamie said that some situations are so perfect, you can hear God saying things like, “white doves enter stage left, fly over palm trees towards setting sun.” Tonight could very well have been my perfect last night in Harlem.

Monday we primered the walls white. Tuesday I painted the outlines and the kids filled in the colors on the right side of gate. Wednesday the kids painted the left side of the gate. So all the colors are there, and tonight was the night for adding details and cleaning up some lines. Our drop cloth looks like a bootleg Jackson Pollock canvas. The rims of the near-empty buckets are clogged with booger paint, the foam brushes torn and floppy, barely clinging to the wooden handle. I made due with the tools and materials.

The mural has become quite the center of attention on the block. Everyone and their landlord has come by, admired our work, and congratulated us for our ambition. Kids on bikes and scooters pulled up every few minutes to ask a marathon of questions. They pointed out to their friends all the parts they had done. Their friends would get jealous and insist that I hand them the brush. lol. I had to keep chasing these boys off the sidewalk because their football kept rolling into my buckets.

Dusk darkened to night, but the block showed no sign of slowing down. The thugs at the corner threw dice for money a few feet from our mural. I would audit their game to figure out how it was played. There was a fourteen-year-old boy who ruled the whole scene, bullying kids twice his age and size. I didn’t know if I wanted to kick his butt or run from him. He “boogies.” When you boogie, you and a friend circulate from subway car to the next, dancing and entertaining for a couple minutes. Then they pass their Yankees hat for donations and move on to the next car. This kid made $200 today and was trying to double it by hustling on the corner.

Cars are furniture. Here there are no yards, just a street lined with cars. If the stoop is filled, cars are the only thing left to sit on. It still cracks me up seeing a dozen kids park their butts on a car that isn’t theirs. They’ll prop their bikes against the fender, put their Chinese food carry-out on the trunk. The old Buick made for pretty good stadium seating while I painted.

Across the street Master had his SUV doors swung open, letting the block dance and strut to the rap anthems. Every half-hour I would cross the street to join his crew for some advice and a drink. Varessa and Joi soon joined us, and so did Tory and his lady friend. It is so funny to see three hipster white kids hanging out with Harlem natives. You just have to giggle at the scene. Some kids would be doing the “Harlem shake” and I would have to show ‘em up. Everyone would laugh, clap, and holler at the twenty-two year old white boy battling young thugs in a shake off. lol.

So this is it–this is the last night in my apartment in Harlem, USA. This has been a phenomenal cultural, spiritual, and social experience. I think a pivotal part of my New York experience was learning to hang out and appreciate Harlem, not just sleep here. I will never run out of stories about living in Harlem. People like Masta, Varessa, Toni, Joi, Paul, Omar, Genera…these people will be etched in my memory forever. This is my neighborhood, and I am going to miss my neighbors.