When Markese Aaron got his hands on a video camera as a teenager, he knew just what to do. He pulled his whole family, including his grandmother, and a couple of friends into the living room and announced they were going to do a skit.
Nobody knew the plot. But they spent the entire night figuring it out—a skit full of outrageous characters and over-the-top lines, laughing so hard that they could barely keep the camera steady.
“I’ll never forget that night,” Syria said. “We laughed the whole time, and I wish we still had that tape. That was him—he loved to make people laugh, to keep everybody smiling.”
That impulse—to protect, uplift, and bring joy—stayed with Markese throughout his life.
He was just 30 years old when he was killed on June 17, 2018, on Grovers Avenue in Southwest Philadelphia.
Lucius Markese Aaron, who liked to go by his middle name, grew up most of his life in Delaware County, the only child of his mother to go to his grandmother’s house after that tragic incident. But it brought him closer with his aunts and cousins, and they were inseparable.
Although technically cousins, Markese and Syria Aaron grew up more like brother and sister. His mother, Syria’s aunt, died by suicide when he was only 10, and Markese was raised by their grandmother in Sharon Hill, Delaware County.
“We grew up side by side, only a year and a half apart,” Syria said. “He was my confidant, my protector, my brother in every way.”
Their grandmother’s house became a hub for friends and family. “He had so many friends, and everybody always ended up on my grandmother’s steps,” Syria remembered. “Inside, my grandmother kept things peaceful. Outside, it was all laughter and joking around with Markese and his friends.”
They used to get into a bit of trouble together as teenager—sneaking out with their grandmother’s car, for instance—but it was never anything too bad.
As he grew up, he became the protector and provider for the family. “He checked in on everybody,” Syria said. “If you needed something, he was there—even if he didn’t show up exactly when you wanted, he always came at the right moment.”
She recalled one story from high school, when she was waiting nervously for sneakers she needed for an audition. “He promised he’d bring them, but he was running late, as usual,” she laughed. “I was freaking out, thinking he wouldn’t show.”
But then a few minutes before the audition, he pulled up with the perfect pair. Red, yellow and green Pumas that she cherished for years.
Markese was endlessly curious and self-driven. He graduated from Academy Park High School and carved his own path as an entrepreneur.
“He was always creating—making T-shirts, making soap, making body creams,” Syria said. “He was even working on making deodorant. He wanted to live as naturally as possible, without chemicals, and he pushed the rest of us to do the same.”
His entrepreneurial streak wasn’t just about business—it was about empowerment. “He was self-motivated from the time we were kids,” Syria said. “He’d say, ‘If you can’t find what you need without harmful stuff in it, then make it yourself.’ He believed we all had the power to create what we needed.”
Markese’s faith as a Muslim also shaped this dedication to cleanliness, health and discipline. He saw creating his own products as part of caring for his body and his family.
But above all, Markese loved being a father. He had three children, and even after separating from his wife, he remained deeply involved in their lives.
“He was always there for them—taking them to the playground, supervising them so they could just have fun,” Syria said. “Family meant everything to him.”
That sense of family extended beyond his own children. When Syria’s niece graduated in 2022, she held up a photo of Markese in her graduation pictures, even though he had already passed. “That’s how much he meant to her,” Syria said. “He was that uncle, that father figure, that protector for all of us.”
Markese loved sports, especially basketball and football, and had played football in high school. He also enjoyed drawing, a talent he inherited from his mother. He read constantly, gambled occasionally, and loved talking with people.
Markese’s presence was especially important in a family where women outnumbered men. With few other male relatives around, he took it upon himself to look out for his cousins, sisters, nieces and friends.
“He was the rock of our family,” Syria said. “When he was taken from us, it shifted all of us. We feel the hole he left every single day.”
