THE ROSE THAT GREW FROM CONCRETE
Everyday I witness the same image as I step outside.
At times it can be difficult to accept the reality of my
environment. I walk down the filthy steps with condom
wrappers, used cigarillos and the white walls that were
once visible. I get down to the lobby and find the exit
window shattered into an innumerable amount of pieces.
The first step that I take outside, I spot a prostitute sitting
on the stoop, hungry for money and “love.” The hooker
attempts to capture my attention as her daily routine.
She is as grimy as the steps in my building, and I hold
a strong belief that the woman is carrying a variety of
STDs.
I am constantly badgered with questions
from neighborhood acquaintances, barbers, drug dealers,
essentially complete strangers. We play one game of
basketball and they assume that I want to smoke weed
with them after the game. They infer that I am just like
them, simply because I play the game fairly well, trash
talk, and live on the block. The neighborhood scar
consists of lost hope. No dreams, no aspirations and no
moving forward.
But I have been lucky. Only a chosen few are
given the opportunity to learn about a job that they are
truly passionate about. A man named Abe is my mentor,
and his achievements have given me fuel to chase my
dream. Abe exemplifies determination and currently
runs a hedge fund. One day I will run a hedge fund. I
will not live with the worries of the rent not being paid
on time, or the cable bill being way overdue. I will not
live terrified to come home to a letter taped to the door
telling us to vacate the apartment. My mother and I will
not live with bricks on our shoulders once I make it. The
knots will loosen up and the sleepless nights will become
a distant memory.
I will live in a neighborhood where we can let our
guard down, where the streets are so clean that we
don’t worry about stepping on dog feces. I will raise
my children in a place where they do not walk down
steps and accidentally step in a bum’s urine, a safe
environment where hearing gunshots at night is
abnormal. Becoming a hedge fund manager is my
aspiration, and attending an academically challenging
college is my dream. I will not be the typical man from
the hood. There is much more that I plan on achieving.
Many that make it out and become economically successful seem to forget about their roots. Even
though it was rough growing up and there were many
distractions, I will never forget that the South Bronx
made me the man that I am today. It taught me to be
tough and see that I cannot let anyone take advantage
of me, as I rapidly grew up and realized what happened
to the prostitutes. Refusing drugs was not frowned
upon, but respected, and it gave me the confidence to
stay above the influence. The struggle to get to where
I plan to be will show me that hard work pays off and
make me an industrious, successful man. I will take
the morals and values that my mother taught me,
incorporate them in making a difference in young
people’s lives, as many people have done in mine.
I was able to attend Kenyon’s Young Writers
program in the summer of 2014. I will forever be
thankful for the sponsor who made it possible for me
to attend. I was allowed to strengthen my writing skills
and expand my horizon. This led to many portraits, a
glimpse of images that flow endlessly through my brain,
crackheads pleading for money to get “food,” the reek
of dope when I enter my building, and my mother’s
daily reminders to stay on the right path. One day I will
sponsor a young man who I know is willing to work hard
and wants to explore his writing and life potential.
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