I'm Homeless Too

The same day I received a text from a friend telling me that she was, at the time, enjoying a dish from Mario's Place in the I.E. I read a post by FreeMan detailing the problems associated with going back home.
http://freemanpress.wordpress.com/2010/04/14/homeless/

Damn...
I can relate...
The image above is of the Mission Inn during the lighting ceremonies of the Christmas season in the Mission District of my hometown.
The text I'd received was from a girl who was part of a clique which would frequent Mario's Place for dinner and then we'd call the bar across the street at the Mission Inn to ask if they would stay open later to accommodate our party.
The bar would always stay open for us and the people we'd call to meet us for drinks.
The girl stated that the places were the same but that it wasn't the same without me.

But FreeMan was talking about food in the hood and the changes that occur when ones favorite place closes down.
I'd never eaten a pastrami burrito but Riverside did have it's own chain which served fresh Mexican food in a clean environment.

While Papis was in the Canyon Crest (not the hood) part of town, these Mexicans took it old school and prepared their pork on a spit.

Nope, no nasty Tex-Mex here.

This place served real Mexican food.

The other haunt of epicurean delight was in the town's East Side.
This place was named Tina's and it was in the hood.
The dishes were sloppy, the tables were small, but the food and service were good.

The last time I went home, I discovered that the place had moved to a strip mall next to a tobacco shop.

While the area was still ghetto, there were no dealers, prostitutes or crackheads filing in from the nearby motels.

There were fewer fights out back and a few police officers in the restaurant.

The food was now made to maximize the profits needed to pay the higher rent and in doing so it has lost it's original flavor.

It is a damn shame when the hood is no longer the hood anymore.

But I should have known.

I should have known that one cannot go home again.

My best lesson came when my play-cousin and I decided to ride down our old block and hand out money to little kids.

As children we'd cool our hot, dirty, bare feet in the water from street side gutters and talk about how we wished that some guy would come by in a nice car and give us money to by a Bomb Pop from the Ice Cream Man.

We'd imaging that we would walk to the nearby TG&Y or Thrifty Drug Store and buy a few toys.

We'd talk about how we'd dodge the big kids and dogs on our way back from the 7/11 two blocks away.

If someone would just come by and give us money, all of our childhood needs would be met.

But don't try this at home.

We were met with screams for help and the police.

Apparently giving little kids money is seen as a prelude to a nefarious act.

As we waited for the police to show up we'd explained our thinking to the angry parents of the children.

As longtime neighbors explained that we'd moved from the area the parents laughed at us and explained their thinking.

We all came to the agreement that one cannot go home again.

I guess some things are just better left in ones childhood memories to be romanticized for eternity.