The Berkeley Crazies

Of course New York has its fair share of crazies. It’s always entertaining to be lectured about the end of the world during my morning subway ride, or have a homeless man in Brooklyn follow me three blocks yelling “I know you want my cock.” But my visit home last week reminded me how much I miss the Berkeley Crazies.

Nothing can compare to the Wackos of Berkeley. From the punk runaways that think being a hippy is still in style to the middle-aged rockers that never came down from that last acid trip, I love them all.

It was Christmas eve day that I walked my mom’s miniature poodle down to Live Oak Park, just a few blocks from the house I grew up in. Live Oak Park will always hold a special place in my heart – the creek I used to splash in, the mud I used to roll through, the jungle gym I used to fall from and the homeless people I used to wave hello to. Live Oak Park has always been home to a number of transients and as kids, we’d hide behind their junk-filled shopping carts during hide-and-seek and sardines, as natural a part of the park as the trees and rocks.

I walked up the muddy lawn past the other dog owners, following Stella (mom’s poodle) to the central bench area. Stella was sporting a pink hooded sweatshirt and I felt the need to explain to each human that passed “She’s not mine. My mom dressed her.” A young man with unkempt hair and dirt-encrusted skin sat on the benches holding a half-empty can of Natural Light. He stunk of beer and garbage.

“Is that a poodle? I love poodles” He flashed a toothless grin.

“She’s not mine. My mom dressed her.” I liked this drunk man and his lack front teeth.

“I just love dogs. I used to have three of them. I never called them my dogs though, I called them my kids. They liked that. They talked to me. I can understand what all dogs are saying. I speak dog.”

“Huh," Okay, maybe he’s a little too odd for me. "Well, I hope Stella’s saying nice things about her dorky sweater. See ya later.”

“Okay, well, it was really nice meeting you. Happy Hanukkah!”

I continued through Live Oak Park, passed the kids on the swings, passed the man in the turban playing electric guitar, and up onto the street. Yes, happy Hanukkah indeed. I love those Berkeley Crazies. Sigh, I miss home.