Growing up on the blocks of the Bronx in the 90s meant being outside from the time school let out until the streetlights came on. Nobody was organizing activities or checking on you every five minutes. You were just out there, running around, getting into it with your friends and figuring things out as you went.
One afternoon I was outside a friend’s building doing what kids do — apparently something that crossed a line, though for the life of me I can’t remember what it was. What I do remember is running and then feeling something connect with the back of my head. He had thrown a wooden walking cane at me. It hit in the back of the head, I stumbled, and I came about as close to dropping as I ever had on that block.
Nobody made a big deal out of it. No parents came running outside. No one was calling anybody. We shook it off the way you shook everything off back then and kept messing around. That was the Bronx. That was childhood. You played hard, things happened, and you moved on.
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