It was the championship game and everyone on the ImhotepHigh School team was already tired. After playing four games to decide who would win it all, it was time for Number 24 to show up. Amir Lassiter was confident in the work he put in over the winter, so he knew this was his time.
“He just had the look in his eyes that he wasn’t going to let up,” said Amir’s friend, Jamir Bostick. “He wanted to win this game so badly you just felt it.”
With the game starting to wind into crunch time, Amir pushed himself to the limit, shot after shot until they were only down two points. While they didn’t go on to win the game, that day 24 made a lasting impact on the court.
“He didn’t even get upset that he didn’t take the final shot,” Jamir said. “He wanted us all to be a part of winning”
From his earliest days, Amir carried himself with the confidence of someone who believed he could rise above any challenge. He grew up on 24th Street and took the number for his own as a daily reminder of where he came from and of the community he represented. His neighbors often said he moved through Diamond Street like it was his own block too, joking that it too was called 24th Street.
Amir’s love for basketball was more than just a passion, it was his calling. Whether playing in the school gym or under a flickering streetlight, he dribbled with dazzling speed and shot a beautiful jumper. On game days, he became the focal point of teammates and opponents alike. Standing at 6 feet by his senior year, he combined his height with a nimble agility that made defenders look lost.
Yet Amir was never content to shine alone. He thrived on lifting others up, pulling friends into his orbit, and showing them that dedication and heart could take you far beyond your neighborhood. “It was always us with him, he wasn’t the selfish type,” said his friend James Thomas.
His good humor was as legendary as his game. He could defuse tension with a single grin or a well-timed joke, turning a heated scrimmage into a hilarious huddle. James recalls him bringing extra basketballs to the park, then tossing one to anyone who dared to join.
“Might as well get in here,” he’d say with a wink, “’cause we’re making it, you feel me?”
Friends and family saw Amir as a protector as much as a player. He looked out for his younger cousins and neighborhood kids who sometimes struggled to stay on track. When trouble bubbled up near the basketball court, Amir would step between combatants and say, “We aint come for that. We here to hoop.”
Those words carried weight because he spoke from experience. He knew the block had its temptations, and he fought daily to keep both himself and those around him focused on a different endgame.
Amir’s life was taken away from him on December 23, 2019. He was standing on the front porch of his home at 3100 North 24th Street in North Philadelphia.
His relationship with his mother, Artisa Lassiter, was the cornerstone of his strength. Between work shifts, she coached him on discipline and humility, warning him that talent alone wouldn’t carry him through life.
In turn, Amir made sure she felt supported. He’d tackle chores without being asked, handle the grocery runs, and check every night that she’d eaten before she collapsed into bed. After his death, Artisa shared the words that now resonate through her quiet moments: “There is not a day that goes by that I don’t miss you,” she said, her voice catching on the memory of his laughter.
