Chapter 1: Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Early 90s.
The projects weren’t just buildings they were a whole world. A crowded, noisy, chaotic world full of kids. I knew a lot of them. Everywhere you looked, there were children running, shouting, playing, surviving.
My school was right on the outskirts of the projects. Close enough that we could walk there every day without needing to dodge cars or traffic. From my house, we’d go straight through the projects, across a wide field with a basketball court, no net, just rims on both sides. Kids play there sometimes, but not often. That court wasn’t cracked or broken, just bare bones, like the neighborhood itself.
That field? That was where most of the real action was. Dogfights between dirt bikes tearing through, smoke drifting through the air from people lighting up weed, the tension thick with fights, fistfights, shouting matches, and people trying to settle scores. But it wasn’t all chaos. That field was also where people came together. Cookouts, neighborhood gatherings, birthdays, block parties, the kind of moments that made the hard times feel lighter, even if just for a little while.
Our playgrounds were simple. The crate courts, made by cutting out the bottoms of plastic milk cartons and nailing them to telephone poles, were our hoops. The sidewalks and patches of grass were our courts. That’s where we dribbled and ran games barefoot or in beat-up sneakers, turning concrete and dirt into our own little stadiums.
Music blasted everywhere. Spanish tunes mixed with rap beats, a soundtrack to our lives. Fast cars and dirt bikes roared through the streets, weaving in and out, making the neighborhood feel alive and unpredictable.
It was a tight-knit place. Everybody knew everybody, and you learned quickly who to stay close to and who to avoid.
There was one man in the neighborhood who had a reputation. Some of the kids would mess with him and throw rocks at his door just to see what he’d do. And he always reacted the same way: by chasing us. Fast. Wild. Like he’d been waiting for a reason.
I remember one day he came after me hard, full sprint, no games. But my brother saw it happen. He stepped in, grabbed him, and made it clear: leave us alone, or you’re gonna have a bigger problem than just kids playing games. After that, the chasing stopped, for a while.
That’s the projects. For me, a mix of danger and fun, fear and freedom, struggle, and brotherhood. A place that shaped everything I was to become.
