A commiserating and provocative tale, Primacy is an all-important lesson of love, tragedy and inspiration as told from an urban perspective. Propagated in the latter portion of the turbulent 60's, on the outskirts of the gritty streets of Philadelphia, it is the story of a young male born in a 'dysfunctional' household and living in a less than opulent neighborhood. With an adolescent's cognizant awareness of the times and personal events, the prognosticator's life starts out on an anger-laced, emotionally charged tumultuous journey that eventually transcends both the time and the streets of the "City of Brotherly Love" Later in the story as the prognosticator becomes of age you are escorted further into his moral decadence as he takes the reader descriptively fitting into the twenty-first century, meeting with consequences and humility. Eloquently written with appropriate vernacular and speech of the situational characters, this story brings into stark visualization a vivid visitation for the reader. Primacy is an empathetic journey for the many whom have felt that they have been through trying situations and that no other soul could possibly empathize.

Primacy

By Barry D. Wade

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Barry D. Wade
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-6396-6

Chapter One

Since there are so many when's, where's and who's, I guess the best thing to do is to just start. On the southern western tip of Philadelphia there is an intersection. I found this intersection to be kind of odd because it had four different street names and basically, I am accustomed to there only being two streets to an intersection. At one point of this intersection is Woodland Avenue, which if you traveled east, it will take you into Center City, Philadelphia and parts in between. At another point of this intersection is Cobbs Creek Parkway, which if you traveled north, it will take you all the way through West Philly towards City Line Avenue and the Main Line. At another point on this intersection is Island Avenue, which if you traveled south, it will take you to Interstate-95. I-95 could take you south as far as Florida or north to Maine or Canada. Oh yeah, and if you could fly and just went straight on Island Avenue, it would take you first over the airport (Philly International) ,and then to the Delaware River, which eventually empties into the Atlantic Ocean. These are the places that set the stage for my tome' but the place where it began is along the final point of this odd or 'weird' intersection. At this point, there is Main Street. Main Street takes you out of Philadelphia and leads you right into a little suburb in Delaware County, Pennsylvania called Darby. This town, which I once heard described as 'quaint', is where I was born and raised but as far as I'm concerned, it was anything but.

We have a transportation system in Pennsylvania called the South Eastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority (SEPTA) that consist of buses and trolleys. The number eleven trolley runs from Center City, down Woodland Avenue and into Main Street at that odd intersection, en-route to Darby. You could jump off the trolley at its final stop at the Darby Depot and catch the bus to 69th street in Upper Darby. In Upper Darby you can catch the Elevated Trains back into the City of Philadelphia. The number 13 trolley runs from Center City through Chester Avenue, in Philly, and after crossing over Cobbs Creek Parkway and down Chester Avenue, you come into a town called Yeadon. If you got off the number 13 in Yeadon on Chester Avenue (the last stop on that trolley) and walked west on Chester Avenue, it would lead you right into Darby. These two trolleys are intertwined to the extent that sometimes, for reasons too in-depth or minute to go into now, you may see a number 11 running on Chester Avenue or vise-versa on Woodland Avenue.

Although there are numerous streets in between, there are seven main streets that really constitute or make up the town where I was born and raised in, called Darby. These streets are: Main Street, MacDade Boulevard, Cedar Avenue, Summit Street, Ridge Avenue, Tenth Street, and Ninth Street. I, and my seven brothers and four sisters, lived with our parents at address 949, on Forrester Avenue, one of those in-between streets. I was the fourth from the eldest.

Space and privacy was something my siblings and I had little or none of, but we were determined to fight for some, and fight we did! 'Right of birth' determined a great deal of what went on in our household and I was often not pleased with what was passed down to me. Briefly I will tell you a little something about each of my siblings & their personalities and my interaction with them, which made for a very interesting childhood.

Charles, the first-born often got what he wanted. And I could, yes, at times remember my mother and father discussing which bills that they could shortchange for a few shakes (because my father would never let a bill go for a whole month without putting something on it), so that they could get him what he wanted. With the bill thing and my father was one of the big things that I did and still do admire about him; his pessimistic and worrisome desires to make sure that the bills were kept up to snuff. Now my mother on the other hand, well, you'll feel what I'm saying as I go along.

Back to the point about us children and our interests, our haves and our 'got nots'.

Charles's interests transcended from model airplanes and model likenesses of Dracula and Frankenstein and the other campy horror flick stars that were popular around that time before Freddy and Chucky , to exotic fish and reptiles, yes, alligators, lizards and snakes (big ones to boot!) and art. To this day, he still loves those snakes and is a very good artist. Charles or, 'Big Jank' as our father sometimes called him, preferred as his choice of dress, the economical and casual fit and feeling of just plain old Wranglers, sweatshirts and sweat socks. I knew then, as I know now, that I could not fit any of them, but that did not stop me from testing the waters just the same. I started off small with the sweat socks and gradually and painfully graduated to the sweatshirts and one or two times, I tried the Wranglers. I quickly learned a couple of valuable lessons about 'Right of Birth' from my experience with 'Testing the waters'. From my experimentation with Charles's belongings I soon discovered the meaning of the expression, "the beat down." And I also learned how to run fast.... very fast. Often times this 'beat down' would take place while my mother was running errands until she came home and sometimes, not even her coming home would stop him and so off I was running again with him in hot pursuit. I have to admit, he was hell on the straight run but around and between cars, I'd smoke him irrespective of the fact that this would only prolong the inevitable. I then learned this trick where I would take off the socks before I got home. As we grew older, he found other things to beat me down for, and looking back now, I have to say that I probably deserved a lot of them. This was also the same guy that bought me my first pair of leather basketball sneakers too!

Now Frankie, the second oldest was the splitting image of my father and I guess in being so, that was one of the main reasons that I would say that he was also spoiled rotten and got pretty much what he wanted too. Now although I too have often been alleged to having been spoiled, I would not resort to the tactics that Frankie used, which were to whine and cry until he got what he wanted and believe me you, whenever he got it, he had no inclinations on sharing it either! As if that weren't bad enough, he also felt that, if someone else had something, that he was entitled to that as well. We fought too (well, with Charles it was pretty much he fought me), but the difference between he and Charles was that with Charles, it was always for some just reason, and each blow he hit me with seemingly had the force of God himself behind it, and would leave me thinking about not wanting to get hit anymore, let alone getting even. But Frankie liked to lash out on a whim and often for no reason at all. Whenever he would hit me, since he was a little bit closer to me in size, the only thing that I could think of was the sweet and tasty lukewarm desire of revenge. Did you ever reflect back on when you were younger and you fought with your siblings and what it was that you mainly fought over? My guess is, and I am assuming that a lot of people would agree, that it was probably more often than not over clothes. Our mother, whenever she went shopping, usually bought Frankie and me, in addition to everything else the same size, even the same size Fruit of the Loom briefs. Back then I often wondered how, if our mother...