My father and I chose to keep it quiet that we were Yankees fans as this was solid Dodgers territory. Aside from that, I have no recollection of any arguments or disputes on our block. The two families amicably talked it out that evening. Not being an aggressive kid, hitting someone was not my thing. His father said something flip like, ‘Give him a shove,’ so I punched him. His father was backing up the car and I shouted that Jeffrey was too close. Their son, Jeffrey, was a little younger than me and one day I punched him. The area was often referred to as the Irish Riviera, and maybe they were the majority, but they were far from the only ethnic group. Opening the front door, that familiar smell was a wonderful greeting. Then, it was back in the car for the final 45 minutes or so over the Cross Bay Bridge, a mile or so on Beach Channel Drive, a left onto Beach 129th Street, and seven houses down on the right. On the drive out from Yonkers, we always stopped at Weiss for hot dogs (clam chowder for my mother) and a SODA! Weiss’s Restaurant on Cross Bay Boulevard in Broad Channel was not just a stop-it was a destination.
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