Growing up on a Tiny Island

I grew up on this tiny island. The only way to travel off the island is by ferry, bus or bridge. Years ago, with not even a bridge to cross, the only way to leave was by ferry. The train still doesn’t leave the island. The last stop is the ferry.

I remember the beaches, the ocean immense to my small eyes. I fear water, so as a child I chose to stay on the tiny island’s beach, collecting seashells.

The island is changed now. More and more people live on it, and so many cars. If I chose to stay on this tiny island, I probably wouldn’t drive. Did I mention, stores, buses and doctors are within walking distance from my old home? This came in handy; however, I left the tiny island to live on another much larger island. But my childhood island will always stay with me.

Staten Island.