In life, it’s great to have buddies. Buddies to count on. Buddies to bounce ideas off. Buddies to bounce on and off and on and off and on and off of…
I realized the greatness of having a handy dandy buddy at only seven years old. I sat inches away from the television, though mami warned the glare would blind me, when a little blonde boy appeared on the screen. He placed a cute, little, gray hat on his buddy – a freckled face doll with a bowl haircut – and sang: “My buddy, my buddy, my buddy, my buddy, wherever I go, he goes!” The little boy swung his buddy around and played with his buddy in his wooden clubhouse and rode with him in his little, red wagon. He was having such fun! Much more fun than I ever had with my bootleg 5-dollar wannabe Barbie bought from the Chinitos on the corner of 181st and St. Nick. I wanted a buddy! I wanted “my buddy and me to climb up a tree!” even though the only thing to climb in the hood was a fire escape. I wanted “my buddy and me” to be “the best friends we could be!” The commercial was over in seconds and I ran to mami to ask for my buddy. But all I got was a trip to the other Chinotos on 180th and Broadway and another bootleg Barbie. Click here to read the rest of Love Trips: My Drinking Buddy!
