Death of a Friend

Over the weekend, I found out a good, good friend of mine from Grade School died over the weekend. I knew he had a kidney transplant sometime in the '80s or early '90s. He and his older brother, and our mutual friend who later became a Catholic priest did a lot of sports activities together. Summers were never long enough. His father taught me how to really play table tennis. We all drifted apart when we all went to different high schools. When I got a job, car and girlfriend, we drifted even further apart. I saw my friend once more in the eighties, where I met his wife.

Of the many childhood memories I have, I remember he and I started a sequence of random numbers each one repeating the whole series and adding the next number to trick up the other one. We agreed to a tie somewhere beyond 100 random numbers. Going back over the numbers the next day, we could see patterns in the chaos. I'll never forget him. He became a Civil Engineer.
 

Tambora

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Sorry to hear of you losing a friend.

But those memories will be around!
 
I remember racing bicycles with him on our way home from Carondelet Park. Crossing side streets without stopping for some reason I hit the breaks hard coming out of an alley. I missed hitting a car and flying over the handle bars by mere fractions of a inch. Did I stop racing? Heck no. The next time I was making a turn into a tee alley and could not make the turn. Fortunately, a telephone pole and a garage door broke my fall to the packed gravel alley way. I had to explain to my parents why my $10 bike now had a front wheel in the shape of a "C" and my forks were bent. Somewhere my father found another wheel for me, straightened my forks and I was off again.

Only by God's grace did I survive my mother, and my own recklessness. Since I was sick so much, I tried to cram as much into each summer as I possibly could.
 
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