Going from the city to the “country” was exactly what I needed for my college life. Being use to Miami meant endless parties to go to (not that I ever went, too noisy), but being use to the hood meant endless sirens, drama, and “sick and tired.” Now nothing’s changed since I left and came back, and that’s what gets me.
All I hear about is how many clubs use to line the streets of Hallandale, Fl. How many big shots like James Brown would play at those clubs, and how lively the neighbor use to be. But when I look around all I see is a big “What happened?” lining every square foot of the 5+ vacant, weed ran, trash decorated lots that serve as patchwork for our neighborhood. And lining those lots are rundown sky blue and cotton candy pink apartments. My neighbors are rowdy and rude– but when don’t those two go together? It’s as if their lives have become the norm. Guys fill the cheap apartments selling the only commodity they’ve grown to know. Women walk the streets complaining about the lives they refuse to leave, and just like that generations upon generations stay in the same neighborhood doing the same thing.
The old park has been torn down and rebuilt. Concrete paths line the palm trees that line the playground, basketball court and, the newest addition, a pool. Yet, even with all it’s grandeur I wonder what it’ll be by the time I come back to visit.
Just a few years back Foster Park was added along with a recreational center featuring a gym, a dance room and a new drug booth. Rain or shine the commodity dealers make the sale.
I would hope that a new park may call for a higher way of living; but even if you bring the horse to the water, you can’t make ’em drink.