washington heights

brooklyn, ny

the beautiful, somewhat rustic, occasionally gritty, and always interesting neighborhood of washington heights lies just below the uncircumcised tip of the island of manhattan (the metaphorical foreskin is, oddly enough, known as inwood). the etymology of the neighborhood is simple enough: it occupies the highest ground on the island and it was the site of the fort named for a somewhat famous u.s. american figure from the revolution. dear old g.w. has lent his name to a state, a city, and now a neighborhood full of dominicans. i even think he'd even be proud of both the former and the latter (the middle...hmm, not so sure).

whereas one glance over its east river shoulder will spot a borough full of puerto ricans, this neighborhood is home to the other major subset of spanish-speaking caribbean island dwellers. throughout the blocks lined with pre-war buildings can be found mangu, delicious rotisserie chicken, and enough barber shops to cater to every member of the armed services, here and abroad. baseball games blare from speakers on stoops and sidewalk gatherings, dominoes slap onto streetside plastic tables, bachata pulsates from slow moving minivans. for the enlightened traveler who would appreciate the dominican republic that traded away its beaches and palm trees and drinks with cute little bamboo umbrellas for pavement and litter and the high asthma rates attendant to a polluted urban area, this is your place. and i do not at all mean that in a bad way.

on a personal level, the neighborhood is where i spent one of my first nights when i moved to the city and met some of my first new york city friends. i now have the distinct pleasure of passing two evenings per week in the vicinity of 182nd street where i perform job #2. already familiar with the environs, my work teaching the citizenship exam to dominican immigrants has introduced me to the true fabric of a neighborhood: its people. i share with them the historical facts needed to pass the exam, they share with me pointers on improving my spanish. i try to introduce them to my own country through playing neil diamond, explaining the louisiana purchase, playing the 'i have a dream' speech, and inculcating a deep hatred for the university of nebraska's football team. they shower me in smiles.

the rewards of this job are no different from the proverbial satisfaction always cited by those in the teaching profession. however, there is something a little more tangible with this work. there have been the gifts and effusive gratitude and firm handshakes from newly minted citizens who return to class to thank me and encourage their classmates. but in the grand scheme, while the news streams the events and aftermath of xenophobic legislation in arizona, i take no small measure of pride in being a white guy lending his time and energy to help a room full of immigrants in becoming u.s. american citizens. but then i can't help but think that if some folk in arizona could take the time to do the work that i do and see immigrants for who they really are, human beings pursuing a dream of self-betterment, then maybe we could all go forward with one less thing to worry about. borders tend to do no more than insulate our own thinking and limit our exposure to the beautiful world and people beyond. i am content that i only need to take the a train to find a happy space in one of this planet's borderless nooks.


i heart new york



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