Re-viewing Summer: the Way to Highland Park, A Selection From A Walker In the City :: Kazin Summer Highland Park

Kazins Summer The Way to mountainous Parkposing on the marble steps of the old, traditional American church, I began to line up cold. Two oriental lions, carved out of old white marble, encircled me. Their faces were mean, and they seemed to be staring at something. As the beasts remained perfectly still, tiny creatures blacken ants and brown bugs in truth busily walked on their backs. As I looked approximately from my cold spot on the step, I could see an old, brick house. This house was want none other on the block. With a large American pin hanging on the door, this house a symbol of the American moon stood taller than all the other houses. My attention then shifted to two great largish evergreen trees on each facade, and the beautiful bed of flowers, of all shapes, sizes, and colors, draped tightly around the base of the house the tracings of an American summer. There was a light through the upstairs window of the house. I could see a mother sitting with her baby so n. Although all I could hear were the galore(postnominal) another(prenominal) crickets singing softly in the night, I knew that the loving mother was revealing a bedtime story to her sweet and sleepy child. My America is a very beautiful place, not only because of the big cities, tall buildings, stone statues, and reasonably flowers, but also because of the people who make America what it is today. Knowing at heart every blue, black, brown, green, and gray eye you see on the streets of America and corresponding me, every window you look through there are stories, hopes and unconstipated dreams, this thought brings me the greatest pleasure, as it did Alfred Kazin. Kazins greatest pleasure came sounding at the many historical landmarks that New York had to offer and thinking of the many people who struggled to make those astonishing contributions. In Summer The Way to Highland Park (1951), Kazin takes us into his childhood in the Brownsville section of Brooklyn, describing h is America with such tactile distinction that we too can taste the damp confection of Italian cheese and see the clumps of red and brown meat fall off the sausage rings (Kazin 332). You cannot grow up in that pattern of environment, without absorbing and re-expressing a fantastically physical world, states Kazin in an National existence Radio news recording.