It was a Tuesday, I remember vividly. The sun was blistering and the West Philadelphian heat was up to no good. My Calvin Klein jeans hugged tightly to my bottom, and my hi-top fade was beaded with sweat. I was just chillin’ out, maxin’, and relaxin’ all cool outside of the entrance to Parkway Center High, waiting for the bell to ring and start the school day. I was feeling fresh in my Tommy sweatshirt and size 14 Reeboks with the fat pumps; never before have I felt a dopeness like this run through my veins. Confidence and style, those two words were that day’s theme…until the bell finally rang. I stood up from my chill zone on the bleachers, looking over at the couple of guys in the b-ball court. “They look like they’re up something, hmm…” I shrug it off and start toward the school with a strut that would rival the sassiness of Donna Summer.       
 
My oversized clock necklace clinked heartily against my chest, orchestrating my entrance into the youth. As my foot crossed over from the asphalt to the linoleum, a shockwave then blasted through to my core and arctic chill fell upon my African skin. The sweet sensation of my Jockey underpants rubbing against me were now absent and the weighted comfort of my sweater had floated off me. I remember a searing pang of anxiety wrought me as I quickly realized my clothes had either evaporated or become invisible, revealing my manhood. How could this have happened? Was this some sort of lucid nightmare? Is there a witch among this poverty-stricken stretch of urban sprawl? I frantically reposition my backpack to cover my shameful display and bolt back out into the basketball court in an attempt to shortcut home.

My mind raced with surreal thoughts, and my bare feet slapped against the heated blacktop. How would I explain this to Mom? At this time, there was no way to know what laid in my future. All I cared about was shielding my girth from the eyes of the impoverished citizens of my hometown, lest I become a laughingstock. My dignity felt as though it were being sucked from my soul, the initial surge of pride I felt in myself as I slipped my toes into my sneakers was being usurped and destroyed. Just as the climax of my misery was reached, a sweaty chest blocked my way. I looked up sheepishly into the eyes of my blockader. I couldn’t believe what I saw. The largest thug from the group of hooligans I had seen earlier was peering down, meeting my gaze. I knew in my heart the magnitude of bodily pain I would soon become acquainted with.
I had barely escaped. My mother found me unconscious on her doorstep and when I came to, she had already packed my bags. I had expected this; my lifestyle of tomfoolery had finally caught up with me. I tried to explain what happened. I pleaded for an understanding. All she gave was one sentence.
“You’re movin’ with your Aunty and Uncle in Bel-Air.”