Patchogue held a special spell over me, I loved to visit
both my aunt and uncle's homes on Norton Street, a duplex home fueled by coal
deliveries, pebbled driveways, and porches as I went about shoeless and wearing
light summer clothing, it was heaven for the kid from Brooklyn.
There was a certain excitement to visiting Patchogue, it was
a special vacation place for me. Carvel ice cream, eating outside and visiting
fireworks or special events like air plane shows, made me feel happy that this
place called Patchogue existed.
Somehow being in Patchogue created a comparison for me of
the sidewalks, buses and Catholic school discipline of Brooklyn to the happy
casual feeling of careless life that Patchogue offered. I was free and
carefree. My cousins seemed so relaxed and willing to share their joy.
Often, in the early morning, when the dew was prevalent, I
could hear the distant sound of the Long island Railroad train engine, tooting
my awake in the morning sunrise, sounding so special and making me want to
arise from my bed and go out in the joy of Patchogue and enjoy the day.
I would give anything to relive those memories once again,
to feel the sense of fireworks exploding through the air on a dark summer's
night on July 4th, having a Carvel ice cream or visiting the dock to scoop out
a crab, Patchogue you will always be my first love!
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