Itzik and Mickey

my brother itzik died in june 1994. He was just shy of his sixty-ninth birthday, and he left behind a treasure trove of humorous and poignant stories. Itz was nine years older than I and he had always been my hero. As a child I longed to join him on the streets of our neighborhood in East New York/Brownsville, where he excelled as a punchball athlete. He could out-punch, out-catch, and out-run all of his friends. He repeatedly told me that he looked forward to the day when I would be...
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my brother itzik died in june 1994. He was just shy of his sixty-ninth birthday, and he left behind a treasure trove of humorous and poignant stories. Itz was nine years older than I and he had always been my hero. As a child I longed to join him on the streets of our neighborhood in East New York/Brownsville, where he excelled as a punchball athlete. He could out-punch, out-catch, and out-run all of his friends. He repeatedly told me that he looked forward to the day when I would be old enough and skilled enough to compete with the boys from Hegeman Avenue. Happily, the time did come when I was invited to play on Itz¿s team. To make up for my deficiencies in height and strength, the opposing team agreed never to hit the ball directly at me, and that worked out fine for a seven-year-old kid. If the play was too difficult for me, Itz was always there to cover and make sure I did not misplay the ball.