There was a certain art to skipping school when you grew up in the Bronx. You had to think it through. The truancy officers were out there, and getting picked up meant real consequences — not just for you, but for your parents too.
My approach was never complicated. Stay home, stay invisible, stay out of trouble. The kids who got caught were usually the ones who thought freedom meant wandering too far. A trip to the train, a detour through another neighborhood, and suddenly you were exactly where you shouldn’t be.
I learned that lesson close enough. A few of us once made the mistake of heading too far out, and it didn’t take long before someone in uniform took notice. We talked our way out of it that day, but the message was clear. The streets weren’t as forgiving as we thought, and the best escape plan was usually the one that kept you closest to home.
Looking back, the days I stayed in were the ones I never had to explain to anyone.
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