My stomach sank the moment we arrived home from the hospital with our newborn baby. There in front of the house loitered the narcotics gang that ruled our street in Harlem.
First to step forth was the head of the drug crew. He offered stiff congratulations as he peered at our precious bundle. Then the one I feared most—a malodorous crack addict named Salami—let out a menacing yelp. “Oooh, he’s so pretty. Just like the Gerber baby! Watch out someone doesn’t steal him!”
As I began to hyperventilate, my levelheaded husband fixed his eyes ahead and advised me to get a grip on my mounting hysteria. “It’s going to be okay,” John insisted firmly. “Trust me.”
I didn’t believe him at the time. But John was right.
Raising a child in this inner city presented challenges, to be sure. At that time, seven years ago, this area was one of the worst anywhere in the U.S. for narcotics trading. On a given day, sixty drug dealers stood outside our front door hawking cocaine. My husband and I moved here because we couldn’t afford anything else. We were childless when we bought our brownstone and didn’t ponder what it would be like bringing up a kid next door to a crack house. Now we had to confront our predicament. But with some creativity and open minds, we have managed to bring up our son, Anton, safely in the ’hood.
First off, much is a matter of perception. What we anxious parents tend to forget is that little ones don’t have a clue what’s going on. Toddlers don’t realize that the guy passed out on the playground slide has overdosed. The kids simply notice that someone is taking a noon nap. For example, consider the time a hostile cocaine peddler spray-painted a threat as I wheeled Anton by in the stroller. I was scared, but not my toddler. All Anton fixated on was the paint color, which happened to be one of his favorites.
“Orange!” Anton gurgled happily.
Later in the week, the little guy wasn’t the least shaken when the police came round to probe the threat. As the lieutenant and I discussed the potential danger—which turned out to be nil—Anton beamed at the glint of the officer’s handcuffs. The child apparently thought they were shiny toys. I doubt he even noticed the gun.
Of course, we’d rather that Anton not be exposed to crime and we keep an eagle eye on whoever hangs around the block.
