Born in Yonkers, New York, in the 1970s, I’ve always seen myself as a New Yorker. Besides attending Yankees or Knicks games, I rarely visit unless it’s for a family engagement or a funeral, as I now live in Connecticut. My childhood experiences in New York were anything but boring, except when I was being punished or at church. Additionally, I witnessed numerous illegal behaviors considered normal in my hometown. It wasn’t until I moved to Connecticut that I realized fighting wasn’t acceptable. I was taught never to let anyone bully or put their hands on me, and surprisingly, I rarely got into trouble for fighting in or out of school in New York—only a swat with a yardstick in school, which just stung briefly.
However, adjusting to life in Connecticut proved challenging for me as a kid and teen. I seemed to always be in trouble. North Carolina became my sanctuary, where I forged lasting friendships from my youth. Each visit fills me with emotional memories. In North Carolina, I learned various skills like riding a motorcycle, landscaping, gardening, driving a manual car, handling and shooting rifles, playing basketball, and swimming. It provided an overwhelmingly positive experience for me as a child.
Yet, when I moved there at 19 for college, I saw a different side. The town, Yadkinville, offered limited constructive activities, leading many of my friends into jail or drug addiction. I told myself I’d never live in North Carolina, especially as a working adult, though I sense it might play a role in my retirement years. There’s something in the air about this state that calls my name, evoking a mix of joy, pain, and memories every time I think about it or visit. North Carolina is tattooed on my soul.