Nazair Jones remembers his middle school years with crystal clarity. He lived, he says, in “the projects” in Roanoke Rapids where fights, drugs and domestic abuse were constant parts of the landscape. He remembers his mother suggesting the company he was keeping fell into the “lie down with dogs ...” category. He just shakes his head today at the thought of distancing himself from two of those good pals and hearing several months later both were in jail for armed robbery and drug possession.
“Middle school was a horrible time for me,” he says. “We’re all immature, we’re basically terrible people at that time.