I ran with a tough crowd. We terrorized our block, ripping through the streets on rollerblades (we called it "flying" since our feet never technically touched the ground). We flaunted the laws of the land by buying and igniting illegal fireworks on the Fourth of July. We carelessly and brazenly offended everyone by playing a game we called "Indian Ball," which is a modified style of baseball, right in the streets.

But my story is a heartbreaking one. When you live by the code of the street, you put yourself in danger every single day. Such was my fate one winter day. I was walking home from Oak Canyon Jr. High, in the safety and security of Lindon, but then immediately when I crossed the border into Orem I was the victim of a drive-by shooting. And by shooting I mean snowballing. And by drive-by, I mean my friend threw one at me from a distance. But it hit me right in the nuts, and it hurt. Bad. I was doubled over for at least 10 minutes. My mouth filled with saliva, and I got that stomach ache guys get when they get hit in the nuts.

At the end of the day, though, you become accustomed to a certain life when you grow up in NorEO. We were the tough guys, and we knew it. When we walked to the 7-11 on the corner of State and 1600 N. ("The Sev," as we liked to call it) to get Pina Colada Slurpees, hardly anybody waved at us, even though we waved at every single car we saw. That's just the way it was, friends.

All of those stories are true. No fabrication.

Looking back, I'm lucky I got out. Life in Provo is much more laid back.