Outrunning the T. Rex

Names have been changed.

Gangs are like a Tyrannosaurus rex: if you’re not careful, they can eat you alive.

When I was 12, my family moved from the top to the bottom of the Bronx to keep my older brother safe. One day, my dad calmly said, “Hey, we’re gonna go look at apartments.” I connected the dots. I knew we were moving because my brother was in a gang.

At first, I had thought he was joking when he told me. We joked around a lot, and I looked up to him. He was an overprotective older brother, but he was struggling himself. As things got worse, I saw he was serious. He started getting into fights and hanging out with people who could get us into serious trouble.

We lived in a huge housing project, 13 stories high. It was disgusting. There was pee in the elevator, trash in the hallways. But that wasn’t why we moved. 

In that building, as soon as you stepped outside the apartment, gang members were hanging around. It didn’t feel safe. We were scared their beef would escalate and spread from one apartment to another. It felt contagious, like living where you couldn’t always see the T. rex, but you could hear its footsteps shaking the walls.

It took us two days to move. We lived on the 11th floor, and my dad had to haul bins up and down the stairs and elevator over and over. My brother got mad because he asked our grandma for help, but she didn’t. She just yelled and slammed the door. The mood was tense. The sound of dragging plastic bins across the hard floors will always remind me of that day, and of moving to be safer from the gang.

A Fresh Start: But Not Freedom

When we got to the new apartment, the mood changed. The walls had just been painted, and the air smelled clean. More importantly, we felt safer. I could walk around without looking over my shoulder. The people in the neighborhood were new to us, but they seemed focused on their own lives—getting to work, taking care of their families. It felt like a new start.

My brother didn’t get out of the gang right away, but living in an area less controlled by them helped him get ready to leave. The T. rexes were still out there, but it felt like we didn’t have one sitting on our couch, eating our leftovers.

Moving gave us some breathing room, but we weren’t free. 

My friend Jeremiah was one of my first real friends—the kind who makes you laugh and feel welcome when you’re new. I was shocked when he told me he’d joined a gang. He said it was because he was lonely. One day, while we were playing Fortnite, he said he had to move to Georgia to get away from gang trouble. That’s when I realized gang life can touch anyone.

A Close Call at the Park

One Saturday last year I was at home and bored, to the point that even video games couldn’t hold my attention. My friend Angel and I planned to play basketball at the park and invited our friend Jordan. I brought my brand-new light brown composite leather basketball. I was excited to use it.

I caught the Bx39 bus to Story Ave, met up with Angel, and we headed to Jordan’s house across from the park. We walked for five minutes, talking about our day, what we’d eaten for breakfast, and being nosy like friends do.

Jordan didn’t live far from me, but his area was controlled by a different gang. We’d never had problems in that park before or felt unsafe there.

We called him from the lobby and said, “We’re downstairs.”

“OK, coming now,” he replied.

While we waited, four full-grown men pulled up—one on a Lime scooter, three on Citi Bikes. Three wore all black, and one had a ski mask. They came to the lobby door and started banging hard, aggressively.

They yelled, “What gang are you in?”

“I’m just a normal civilian trying to play basketball with my friends,” Angel said.

They yelled, “Come outside.”

It wasn’t an invitation. From their tone, we knew it was a threat.

I was scared—my head hurt and my legs shook. Then Jordan came downstairs. He saw what was happening and told us to take the back exit so we wouldn’t have to pass the men.

Even if you’re just minding your business on a Saturday, gangs can still cause you trouble.

We walked out the back. The men couldn’t see us, but we could still hear them yelling as they left. We saw a police officer on the corner and told him, “Four men were harassing us in the building.” We showed him where they’d been standing, but they had already run off.

I was heated. I wanted to punch the wall. I wanted them to be held accountable.

The officer said, “If you see them again, let me know. I’ll be in the same spot.”

I turned to Angel. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “Do y’all still want to play basketball?”

Jordan and I smiled. “Heck yeah.”

We weren’t going to let them ruin our day. We’d come outside for a reason.

That day taught me something important: even if you’re just minding your business on a Saturday, gangs can still cause you trouble.

Choosing My Own Path

All this made me realize I couldn’t play around with keeping my life gang-free. I saw what my brother went through—getting jumped in, fighting, getting hurt. Once, he was slashed with a rock and had to go to the hospital. 

He was never arrested, but finishing high school was hard because of gang trouble. He told me things that shocked me. “Stay in school, Isaac,” he said. “Don’t be like me. It’s not worth it.”

I’m embracing the fact that I’m not like my brother. He had to grow up fast—he got a tattoo at 15. I can’t imagine having one at my age. I’m not trying to fight anyone; I’m soft, honestly, and I’m OK with that. I’m leaning into who I am and working to build something better.

When I was 14, my dad enrolled me in a school far from the drama, where I play football. I’m the junior varsity quarterback. Football helps me a lot. It’s not just a game—it keeps me focused and busy. My whole day is football: playbook meetings, weight room, conditioning. By the time I get home, I’m too tired to mess around. I’m never around when trouble starts. I’m at practice.

Football makes me talk to myself like this: “You got this. You’re the best on the field.” That mindset keeps me out of trouble.

I’m learning to ask for help and lean on people who care about me. My dad focuses on my safety and future. He helped me get into a good school and drives me to practice or wherever I need to be.

It’s not just my dad who wants to help. When I thought about this summer, I didn’t want to sit around and risk getting into something I’d regret. I might not be looking for the T. rexes, but they’re still out there, waiting for someone to slip.

Finding My Voice

I asked my school counselor, Bonnie, to help me find something constructive to do. We looked through jobs on her laptop, and that’s how we found this summer writing program. I wanted to apply because I thought it could be a good way to get my voice out there. I have an IEP, which means I learn differently, so I thought writing help would be useful.

We had some trouble with the application, but we didn’t give up. Bonnie even texted YC for help. She taught me how to advocate for myself. When I got in, we jumped up and down. It was one of the best feelings I’ve ever had.

I’m choosing the path without the T. rexes. Technology, writing, football, school, homework, being with friends, having fun, and traveling are all things I can do because I’m not caught up in gang business. They’re also the things that keep me too busy for the T. rex to catch me, and that’s how I plan to keep moving forward in life.