This story was produced as part of our Writing Heals program, in which we hire a family member of a victim of homicide to write the stories of people who have been killed in Philadelphia. For more information or to sign up to write about someone you lost to gun violence, click here.
Story by Donna Jones, Ronald’s mother
Ronald was the second-oldest child, yet it was almost like he was the big brother to all of his siblings. He was a protector by nature, watching over everyone with quiet strength. His friends affectionately called him “Ron Ron” or “Poops,” names that spoke to the closeness they felt with him.
As a young boy, Ron was the true definition of “all boy.” He was rough, mischievous, and full of energy, but never disrespectful. At the age of 12, he was baptized, marking an important step in his faith. He attended Anna B. Pratt Elementary, then went on to Excel Academy, where he did very well and earned his certificate of completion.
At 18, Ronald met the mother of his children. Daron and Isiah quickly became his pride and the center of his world.
Ronald’s personality was laid-back and calm, but deeply observant. He often watched more than he spoke, but when he did speak, his words carried meaning—and his opinion was valued by all who knew him. His most cherished people were his sons and siblings, yet he had a way of making everyone feel like they were the most special to him.
Boog’s favorite thing about Ron was the way he made her feel protected, heard and validated, as if she were the most important person in his life. That was Ronald’s gift: he made each person feel seen and valued in their own unique way. What Boog misses the most is riding through 28th Street, hearing him yell, “Booooogie!” – a sound that reminded her she was loved, safe, and never alone.
Ron had a gift for artistry. He taught himself to draw, mastered the skill of cutting hair, and had a deep love for music. No matter the genre, if the rhythm caught him, he would find a rhyme to match it
He had a smile that could light up any room and a laugh so contagious it could lift the heaviest of days. His sense of humor was unexpected; he didn’t share it often, but when he did, you’d laugh until your stomach hurt. He also had a gift for speaking life into others, often dropping “jewels” that made you think deeply. His words-simple yet powerful-stayed with you:
“Big Sis, you gonna be alright. You were always strong.” “Boog, get it together. Mom got you.” “Brubs, be a better man than me and dance your heart out. Leave no crumbs.” “Mom, you’re my superhero.”
Ronald had a way of speaking that made you believe in yourself, even if you weren’t sure you could.
On October 13, 2020, Ronald’s life was tragically taken at 28th and Cecil B. Moore Avenue. He was shot in the head, and in his final moments, a pastor and police officer prayed over him as he took his last breath in the back of a police car.
Though his life was cut short, Ronald’s spirit, wisdom, laughter, and love continue to live on in the hearts of all who knew him.
Leave a Reply