Silhouette of Strength-Chapter 3-The Original Silhouettes

Before I continue I must introduce the Original Silhouettes.

Bronxdale Projects – Structure, Survival, and Community

(John and Mary (Baby) – My Step-Paternal Grandparents)

John and Baby lived in Bronxdale Houses, one of the many public housing projects in the Bronx. When they moved in, the projects were brand new, built to provide affordable housing for working-class families. The buildings were designed with concrete hallways, heavy steel doors, and controlled entry points, which some later compared to prison layouts.

Despite the rigid structure, the projects were filled with life. Inside their two-bedroom apartment, John and Baby raised three boys, including Pops, who was the middle child. The brothers shared a small room with a bunk bed and a cot, while their parents occupied the other bedroom.

Even with space limitations, their home was warm and full of traditions. My grandmother Baby worked in a factory making costume jewelry, while my grandfather John worked in metal crafting. Their apartment became the center of family gatherings, especially on Thanksgiving, when Baby cooked and John played Spanish music on his radio. After dinner, we’d squeeze into the tiny space, playing Pokeno and bingo, surrounded by laughter and lively conversations.

I have a vivid memory from those days: after dinner, I loved being responsible for taking out the garbage. In the projects, there was a garbage shoot conveniently located by the elevator. It was so neat to be in charge of throwing out the garbage, a small but proud duty that made me feel grown up and important.

The Neighborhood

Bronxdale was dense and structured, a place where families made the most of small spaces and shared courtyards. The neighborhood was working-class, diverse, and tough, with a sense of community survival where neighbors looked out for each other despite the challenges of public housing.

Morrison Avenue – A Private House, A Different Kind of Stability

(Aida and Roberto – My Paternal Grandparents)

Just a few blocks from the projects, Aida and Roberto lived in a private house on Morrison Avenue in the Bronx. It was a two-bedroom apartment inside a multi-family home, offering more privacy and stability than public housing.

My grandmother Aida came to New York from Puerto Rico, pregnant with my father. Her relationship with my fathers biological father didn’t work out. A year later, she met Roberto, and they built a life together, eventually having two more boys. My father kept his last name Vega, as Roberto was not his biological father, but he raised him with love, respect, and nurturing as if he were his own.

Their home was always filled with comforting smells. Abuela Aida always had a pot of rice simmering on the stove, and Roberto could always be found watching his novelas on TV. I have fond memories of speaking with my grandmother Aida over the phone; every time we hung up or said goodbye, she would warmly say, “Que te Dios bendiga,” blessing me in Spanish. In addition, she had a unique collection that spoke to her artistic soul; she collected porcelain figurines and life-size dolls, treasures that added a personal touch to the quiet elegance of her home.

The Neighborhood

Morrison Avenue had a quieter, more residential feel compared to the projects. The private houses were home to working class families, and while it wasn’t extravagant, it offered a greater sense of independence. The street had small shops and a few corner stores where neighbors greeted each other by name.

Halloween and Easter Sundays were special at their house. My grandmother always made sure I had a pumpkin full of candy for Halloween and an Easter basket ready for me. My mother, always creative, would transform me into a gypsy or a raggedy Ann using old clothes and makeup, making sure I stood out from the store bought costumes.

Washington Heights – A Home with Open Doors

(Raquel and Fernando – My Maternal Grandparents)

On the sixth floor of a brick building in Washington Heights, my grandmother Raquel and her third husband, Fernando, created a home that was always buzzing with energy. At that point, my grandmother had two more children from her second husband Juan. My Titi Cathy and my Uncle Johnny shared the second room. Their two-bedroom apartment on 178th Street and Amsterdam Avenue was more than just a home-it was a social hub.

My grandmother Raquel never locked her door. It wasn’t just a habit; it was a statement of openness. Friends, family, and neighbors all had the right to walk in whenever they liked, and they did. The apartment, alive with music, parties, and the constant buzz of activity, was a place where everyone could gather. My cousins, living on the fifth floor, made every visit a time to rehearse merengue and salsa. prepare for parties, and celebrate Christmas Eve with presents unwrapped at midnight.

The Neighborhood

Washington Heights had a different kind of energy the Bronx. The streets were steeped in Latin culture, with Dominican, Cuban, and Puerto Rican influences blending in every corner music, bodegas, and street vendors creating a vibrant backdrop to everyday life.

Theriot Avenue – A House Overflowing with Life

(Mamiea The Matriarch- My great grandmother)

A short distance from Morrison Avenue, in the Bronx, my great-grandmother lived on Theriot Avenue. Originally from Cuba, she brought with her a strong entrepreneurial spirit and an undeniable presence. Having 10 children herself, her apartment was always overflowing with life—children, grandchildren, and whoever else happened to stop by. There was never a quiet moment in her home. It was a place where family gathered, where meals were shared, and where her commanding voice would tell you to take off your shoes and be comfortable. No one ever wear shoes at a Mamieas’ house.

Daddy Louie – A Different Journey in Pursuit of the American Dream

(Daddy Louie – My Maternal Grandfather)

My grandfather Louie had a different path. He came to New York from Puerto Rico, chasing the American dream. He found work in the kitchens of famous nightclubs, including the legendary Copacabana, preparing meals for celebrities and performers.

In his early thirties Louie was drafted into the Army during World War II. When he was discharged, he met my grandmother Raquel, and he fell deeply in love with her. He wanted nothing more than to build a life with her and have a child.

It took 5 years before they had my mother. By then, Louie was in his early 40s, Raquel was 9 years younger, still eager to live her life. Unlike my other grandparents, their relationship was complicated. Raquel wasn’t ready for motherhood, but Louie desperately wanted to raise their daughter. Despite not having the financial means, Louie stepped up. He agreed to take care of my mother, and with the help of Mamiea-my great-grandmother-he made sure she was cared for.

A Tale of Many Homes

Each of my grandparents’ homes represents a different version of survival, love, and culture. Whether it was the structured environment of the Bronxdale Projects, the stability of a private house on Morrison Avenue, the vibrant, open-door culture of a Washington Heights Brick building or the overflowing life on Theriot Avenue, they all helped shape who I am today.

No matter the size of the home or the struggles behind its doors, family always found a way to thrive. While these environments were unique in their own ways. The bond between my mother and Daddy Louie was truly special. I remember the excitement in my mother’s face when my grandfather Louie agreed to move with  us to Croes Avenue-a moment of hope and a promise of a new beginning.