Crotona Park
Blanche, my mother, was past thirty, an old maid by the standards of the mid-twentieth century. She finally picked herself up and hauled herself off to a lefty resort in the Catskills, the kind of place where people were more likely to play Twenty Questions than tennis. There she met my father, Harold, who was apparently quite good at playing Twenty Questions. His mother had died when he was four, and his father died the year that Harold was discharged from the Army. Harold went back to his job at the Post Office. He had dropped out of City College before the war and was now finishing his degree at night. His classes were filled with ex-GIs who worked during the day and fell asleep during their night classes. Up... Read more...
