Kensington Streets

Growing up in Kensington in the 90s and 2000s was a wild ride. The streets were tough, but they were home. I knew every alleyway, the Golden was a favorite of ours, also every corner, and every face. It was a community that looked out for each other, despite the struggles.

Kensington had its darker side. The crack and heroin epidemic swept through our streets like a plague, leaving behind shattered lives and broken dreams. I saw friends succumb to addiction, and the violence that came with it. I too succumbed to a heroin addiction but luckily overcame.

Despite the challenges, we found joy in the simple things. We'd play halfies in the streets, ride our bikes through the neighborhood, Franklin Field and Cambria was a mainstay and so was the Sesame lot in the Village. We throw rocks at the train, get shot by salt gun by the Conrail workers, hop the train down to Pebble Beach and jump on the pier, or should I say beams. Fight other areas such as Conwell, The Lot and others which was always entertaining.

Growing up in Kensington was about resilience, grit, and friendship. It was the understanding that we were all in this together.

As I grew older, I realized that escaping the harsh realities of Kensington is a testament to my resilience and determination. I, as well as a few others rose from the ashes, carrying the wisdom and strength forged in those streets, but also leaving behind the struggles and limitations.

We emerged stronger, wiser, and more compassionate, with a deeper understanding of self and the world around us. Our experiences shaped us, but don't define us. We can rise above our circumstances, learn from them, and create a brighter future for ourselves and those around us.

I still drive through Kensington sometimes, and it's so foreign to me that I realize what we all survived. The streets are way different but it is what it is and though I'm glad to be gone from there, I am grateful for what I've endured and learned from Kensington.