I moved around a lot as a kid. I spent ages 2-7 in West LA off Sepulveda and National. To this date, that has been the longest stretch of time I've ever lived in one city. So I like to think of it as my home town. Last weekend I stayed the night with some friends on the Westside.
The next morning I thought I'd pay a visit to my old stompin grounds since it was close by and drove to a park I used to play at all the time. I wanted to find the rock that me and my best friend Omar used to love to play with. No we weren't mentally challenged. It was actually a giant man-made rock that was meant to be a sort of creative jungle gym for kids.
It was so much fun to climb it and fight for dominance with the other kids. We could play on that thing for what seemed like hours. That was about two decades ago though, so I wasn't sure if it would still be there. But as I rolled up to the park I could see that it was.
My heart jumped at the thought of climbing back up on my precious rock, hoping no one was going to call the cops as I shoved their kids once again attempting to be King of the Rock. It turns out I didn't have to worry about that.
See Afghanis? Living in rubble ain't so bad, if you shape it the right way...