I enjoyed basketball as a hobby. I did not play on a team or train to become the most outstanding basketball prospect. I enjoyed the sport for fun. The only problem I had was the dwindling number of basketball courts around me. I only had a basketball court in my backyard in my first year of college. However, during the summer in my high school years, basketball was always on my mind when hanging out with friends. I had just finished my sophomore year of high school. My overall goal for the summer was to have fun and chill with friends.

However, the only parks around the neighborhood were Parkside and Zimmerman Park.

Both parks were like the Lakers vs. Celtics rivalry. Rock vs. Stone Cold. Rocky vs. Apollo. To name a few. Both parks competed as the worst parks. Meaning they were dangerous. The parks were filled with gang violence and drama. Either way, it was a lost situation.

Nevertheless, Parkside Housings stood out the most. Even though I always went there to hang out with friends, my parents never allowed me to attend. Understandably so.

However, when I was fourteen, I wanted to enjoy the summer without hearing my parents scolding me mercilessly. My mom worked in the morning while my dad worked in the afternoon. With a basketball in my bag and a mountain bike by my side that my aunt bought me, I rode my bike to meet up with my old friends Don and Chris. We would always play basketball during the afternoon due to the overwhelming weather. During those afternoons, we would head to Parkside to play a game of basketball. We called the park Parkside because the area is called “Parkside Housings,” an apartment complex in the White Plains Road area.

Most of the people I knew lived there. Don, Chris, and I did not. But we would still go over there. Playing basketball at Parkside felt uneasy to me. Whenever we played basketball there, you would see the usual things. Police sirens overlapping the sounds of the basketball dribbling. Random groups of people sitting down doing unusual activities. Gang activity all around the area. I had seen uneasy encounters around the park since all three of us stayed there till dark, 10:00 p.m. at best. A random guy was dragged out of his apartment by a swat team during a 2-on-2 pickup game—a brawl of kids and adults fighting after school. With the sight of little kids getting their bikes stolen.

Whenever we played basketball at Zimmerman Park, violence around the park was the same. One time, two people were shot and killed there. A complete tragedy.

My friends and I would compete in pickup games with high school kids from AAU or their high school teams. Games against kids influenced by gang activity. The intensity we had during those games were at an all-time high. If I missed a three-pointer, it was either because the high school kids talked trash or the kids in gangs wanted to fight me. They treated the games like the NBA finals because of the desire to win.

When it came to basketball, I enjoyed shooting the basketball. However, I failed under pressure. Missing shots during those games bothered me. It slowly increased my frustrations with the opposing team. Either way, it was not worth the trouble.

One day on a Tuesday afternoon, my mom blew up my phone asking where I was at. I would tell her I was spending time at a friend’s house. I was at Parkside.

My mom hated me playing there due to her childhood living around the park. Shootings, stabbings, murders, robberies. Whenever she would tell me not to attend there, it was because she wanted me safe. I was young at the time and did not want to listen. So, I didn’t tell them I was going there. Why cost them the headache?

Writing this now, I knew I was in the wrong, but back then, I just wanted to have fun.

However, I will never forget this moment while playing basketball there. It was a Friday night. We had been playing games throughout the entire day. I started playing in the afternoon till it was pitch black outside. I was tired and wanted to go home with Chris and Don. It was 8:00 p.m. when I checked the time on my phone. A couple of kids our age kept asking us to stay. They repeated themselves over and over after every game we played. We rocked the pickup games out of the way. One of the kids on the opposing team scored. I was about to check the ball when I saw this black van slowing down in front of the park. The van kept driving around the area but stopped on the block where the park was.

It was 9:30 p.m. “Yo nah man, stay, just play one more game.” We all said no and left. I tried going home, but Chris wanted to play one short game in Zimmerman Park. I did not want to do it, but why not if it was one short game?

We played at Zimmerman for a little while, and then we all saw a car doing the same at this park. After the game, we all split up and went home.

It was a Saturday night and I was doing nothing while watching TV. My dad knocked on my door and said, “Did you hear about that kid Khalif? Shot at Parkside, Mom told me about it.”

Khalif was an individual I knew from childhood. However, he stopped hanging around other people and did his own thing. Khalif had survived, but finding out he was shot honestly sucked because even though we had not spoken in a while, I was glad he could keep his life together.

I was hanging out in Parkside when a car stopped in front of the park and started shooting the park. Bullets struck Khalif’s arm and leg, leaving him on the floor. Jacobi Hospital took care of him. Stayed in the hospital for a week.

The situation stuck with me because the same outcome happened on Friday. Were me and my friends going to get shot next? Was I going to be in the same situation?

I saw a car stopped by the park the same way Khalif was shot. I will never know, but I am glad no lives were taken.

Summer continued on. I had gone on a week’s trip with my grandma and my sister to Florida. I came back home and chilled out for the rest of the summer, waiting for my junior year to start.

Flash forward to now. All my friends have moved and are doing their own thing. Khalif moved. I plan to do the same after my college career, but I have not seen Parkside since. I stopped going there.