When I was about 15 years old, I joined up with a couple of guys from my old block who had a crew. These guys said they had permission from a larger, more established organization to coexist in the neighborhood.
To join, I had to be initiated into the group. The way they did this was by getting jumped in. There were two lines, and you had to make your way down the middle while the guys tried to hit you.
I made it through the gauntlet. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I caught a few good shots to the midsection when I got to the bigger guys, but I survived and was given my beads.
As a member of this crew, I was supposed to get support from the guys and also support them if needed. That’s how it was supposed to work — you give, they give. But in this case, my enemies were people the crew either feared or respected. So when a certain individual and his boys took my beads, slapped me, and put a blade to my face, the crew didn’t want to get involved. Without saying it, they basically told me I was on my own.
This didn’t make sense to me. I got jumped into the crew for protection, but they weren’t willing to help me out. So much for that crew. After that, I stopped hanging out with them and ignored their requests to go to meetings. There were rumors I might have to get jumped out, but I said I already got jumped out — when those guys came at me and the crew didn’t step in.
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