RIP Tre Green

When I was in 5th grade my mom got remarried and we were forced to move up to the top of Altadena. The neighborhood was a typical working class one, but hidden behind the uncut grass was a mystery to me. A lot of the kids we hung out with were what I would call "STREET SMART". Some would just say GHETTO but whatever, you know what I'm saying. I could tell you stories of playing ball in the street, swimming down the street at Mr. So & So's house, but as I told you before, GOD wants me to be as TRANSPARENT as possible.

Tre was a kid who lived down the street from me. He was a great athlete and I enjoyed hanging out with him around the neighborhood and at his house. I recall spending the night at his house one night and finding out what boxers were. That was funny. I guess Tighty Whities were my thing. That wouldn't be the only time Tre would introduce something to me for the first time.

Weed, Mary Jane, or whatever you want to call it always had a familiar scent to me. It's aroma was quite pleasing to me as a kid. I guess it kinda still does. My uncle would always enjoy the cloud of smoke in my Nana's garage. It seemed as normal to me as Papa listening to the Giants game on his AM radio. I had smoked cigarettes several times by the time I had entered 8th grade, as I already shared. So when my homie Tre offered me a hit of a joint in the back of his neighbor's house, I didn't really trip. We smoked it, laughed, and shared stories as the ashes slowly fell to the ground.

I probably was 14 when I felt that high for the first time. I didn't know that this would shape my life to come. I also didn't know Tre, my homie from the neighborhood, who shared childhood memories with me would get shot in his front yard. He was only in his early 20s. RIP Tre Green.